


Non Omnis Moriar

by Heatherlly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherlly/pseuds/Heatherlly
Summary: Having survived the Battle of Hogwarts, Severus returns to his position as Potions Master, no more than a shadow of his former self. Hermione is determined to help him, but how can either of them make peace with a past that refuses to let them go?





	1. Survival

**Introductory Notes** : _Welcome, readers! Just a few notes before we get started:_

_1.) I've been writing HP fanfic for years, though this is my first Severus/Hermione story. I'll be exploring what might've happened if he'd survived the Battle of Hogwarts, including a fair amount of mystery and an unlikely romance._

_2.) I've never seen Ron/Hermione as a compatible couple, which will be reflected here. I don't intend on making Ron a villain, but there are times when he'll be portrayed in a less than flattering light. The same is true for other Weasleys, as I do think they'd take his side in certain situations (especially him wanting to get married/start a family)._

_3.) My stories contain profanity, sexual content, and other adult themes. Please read at your own discretion._

_4.) Future updates will be posted every other weekend (unless life interferes)._

 **Non Omnis Moriar** : (Latin) _I Shall Not Wholly Die_

* * *

##  **Chapter 1: Survival**

* * *

Hermione had forgotten what silence was like.

She couldn't have imagined it being quiet a few hours ago, with screams and shouts and curses flying in every direction. The centaurs had made her ears ring as they'd stampeded through the courtyard, though that was nothing compared to the rumble of stone and mortar as the castle walls had been blasted apart.

Even when Voldemort had fallen, the noise hadn't stopped. Fearful cries had been replaced by yells of triumph, explosions of fireworks peppering the morning sky.

Silence had settled over the castle by slow degrees, such a subtle change that she hadn't even noticed it at first. Ragged sobs had given way to soundless tears, moans of pain soothed away by a healer's touch. Soon enough, even those who'd celebrated had lowered their voices, surrendering to the exhaustion that haunted them all.

Hermione sighed, shooting a glance at Harry. He'd fallen asleep as soon as they'd reached the common room, his peaceful expression strangely at odds with his battered appearance. She wished she could join him, but it was simply too quiet, too serene, nothing left to distract her from her anxious thoughts. She'd never felt so restless, her nerves thrumming as she got up to pace the room.

What was wrong with her? Now that Voldemort was dead, she had nothing to worry about, nothing to fear, no reason to believe that the darkness would ever come again. She'd survived, along with most of her friends, and the others certainly hadn't died in vain. Of course, she was sad for them. Terribly so. But deep down, she knew that wasn't what troubled her now.

"What was it?" Ron had asked as Harry scooped the memories out of the Pensieve. "What did he show you?"

"Didn't you hear what I told Voldemort? Snape wasn't a traitor. He switched sides when Voldemort targeted my mother. All those years, he was protecting me from…"

"Protecting you?" Ron interrupted. "He _hated_ you!"

"Yeah, well, there were reasons for that. I'm not saying all of them were fair, but…"

"What reasons?"

Harry hesitated, shoving the memories in his pocket. "It doesn't matter. Look, I'd rather not talk about this, okay?"

For once, Hermione had kept her mouth shut, realizing that Harry was deeply upset by what he'd seen. Who could blame him? To spend all that time thinking that Professor Snape was his mortal enemy, only to find out that he'd been one of their greatest allies? She didn't know what Snape had given him through those memories, but it was obviously something significant, the one thing that had helped him defeat Voldemort for good.

"Look… at… me…"

Hermione shivered, remembering Snape's tortured expression. It was as if he'd been trying to rid himself of every emotion he'd ever felt, projecting his feelings outward like he'd done with his memories. And then just as suddenly, the intensity in his eyes had faded, his features forever frozen in a mask of pain.

No, she didn't blame Harry for feeling the way he did. Snape's death was awful, one she wouldn't have wished on her worst enemy. To see someone suffer so much, only to realize they'd been trying to _help_ you?

"Yes, Dumbledore's dead," Harry had told Voldemort, "but you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant."

That meant Snape had acted as a spy until the very end, allowing everyone to believe he was a traitor. Why had he agreed to such a thing? He must've known that the entire Wizarding world would despise him. And what about Dumbledore? Why would he have _chosen_ to die? How could he put Snape in such an awful position, especially when it was clear now that he'd been loyal all along? Was it a ploy to make Voldemort believe that Snape was in control of the Elder Wand?

If so, he must've known that Snape would be killed. Had he shared that part of the plan? Or had Snape stumbled into it blindly, unaware of what was happening until it was too late?

Hermione shook her head. Could Dumbledore really have been that cruel? She didn't want to think so, yet she'd seen what had happened in the Shrieking Shack. She'd heard the confusion in Snape's voice give way to panic, followed by his last, desperate attempt to communicate with Harry before he died.

"Take… it. Take… it."

No, that couldn't have been planned. She knew it, her heart aching as she imagined how Snape must've felt when he'd recognized the truth. He'd had nothing to give him comfort, only the bleak reminder that no one, not even Dumbledore, had cared whether he lived or died.

Really, it was no wonder that Snape's was the death that haunted her. Unlike the others, he'd died alone, with no reason to believe that a single soul would mourn his passing. He hadn't been surrounded by friends and loved ones, nor would anyone bother to care for his body. Some of them hadn't even heard what Harry said. Others would almost certainly be reluctant to believe it. They'd probably just toss him into an unmarked grave, which was what they planned to do with the real Death Eaters.

Hermione didn't even realize what she was doing until she was halfway down the stairs, though by the time she made it to the front entrance, her resolve was firm. She ignored the voices that called out to her, nearly slipping on the damp grass as she raced across the grounds. Only when she'd made it past the Whomping Willow did she hesitate, bracing herself for what would no doubt be a grisly job.

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath as she entered the tunnel. "Let's get this over with."

The first thing she saw was the blood, a wide, dark stain that covered the floor like an overly large rug. But there was no body lying in the middle of it, only a crumpled black cloak.

"Bloody hell," she whispered as she spotted the markings. Bloody handprints led away from the larger stain, followed by an indistinguishable smear where Snape had struggled out of his robes. He'd managed to drag himself across the room, discarding the heavy clothing that must've hindered his movements.

Hermione moved forward, nearly tripping over his coat as she did so. It was only when she glanced over her shoulder that she saw him, his body lying facedown just a couple feet from the tunnel.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her vision blurring as her eyes filled with tears. "God, I'm so sorry."

He hadn't been dead when they'd left him. That much was clear. He'd tried to escape, to get help, to… keep fighting? Whatever he'd been trying to do, he'd obviously failed.

Wiping her eyes, she used her wand to ease him onto his back. His face was pale and gaunt, his features so unnaturally still that she couldn't help but shiver. He wore nothing but boots and trousers, his shirt wadded up and pressed against the wound in his neck.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "Sorry we left you this way."

Yet even as she said it, she had a strange thought. What if he'd done it on purpose? What if he'd _wanted_ them to think he was dead, afraid they might linger here too long? It seemed absurd, yet he'd obviously been trying to help them. If he'd believed that they'd been running out of time, wouldn't he have done whatever it took to get them to leave?

Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, she chose to believe it, finding comfort in the idea that he'd had _some_ choice in the matter.

"Right," she said quietly, "I guess we'd better get you cleaned up."

She hesitated, surprised by how reluctant she was to touch him. She might not _like_ dead bodies, but she'd had no problem kissing Fred's forehead, nor giving Remus and Tonks a quick hug. But of course, Snape was different. She couldn't imagine he would've wanted her to touch him, even if he wasn't alive to feel it.

"You're being absurd," she muttered, lifting her wand to cast a cleansing charm. It removed the blood and dirt from his chest, drawing attention to how thin he'd been beneath his voluminous robes. His body was nothing but muscle and sinew, his pale flesh covered by the lightest dusting of fine black hair. Strange, but she'd never imagined him having a bellybutton, nor small, round nipples that were as pink as her own. It made him seem so vulnerable, so human… in that moment, she found it hard to believe that she'd ever been frightened of him.

Feeling more confident, she moved closer, plucking several bits of debris from his hair. She pulled the wadded fabric away from his neck, relieved that the wound was no longer bleeding as she probed at it with her fingers.

He hissed.

At first, she thought she was hearing things. But then there was a strange noise, caught somewhere between a gurgle and a groan. She scrutinized his features, her eyes widening as his mouth twisted into a grimace.

"Professor Snape?!"

He didn't open his eyes. Maybe he didn't have the strength. But as she looked more closely, she could see that he was breathing, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly as she placed her hand over his heart. If he was offended by the touch, he didn't show it. Instead, his features relaxed, only to contort again as she moved to clean the blood from his neck.

Finally, he cracked an eye open, giving his head an infinitesimal shake.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know it hurts. If we can just get you up to the castle…"

Another shake, followed by a groan.

"Stop that." She hesitated, sinking back on her heels. "Look, just… blink once for yes, twice for no. Can you do that?"

He fluttered his eyelashes.

"Good. Do you know where you are? Who I am?"

_Yes._

"Do you want me to send for help?"

_No._

These were rapid blinks, surprising in their vehemence.

"Well, what am I supposed to do then?"

He opened and closed his mouth, giving her a helpless look. The gesture drew her attention to his lips, which were cracked and bleeding.

"Would you like some water?"

_Yes._

She nodded, bringing her wand to his mouth. Careful not to choke him, she dribbled a few drops onto his tongue, hearing him groan in relief as he managed to swallow. She repeated the process once, twice, and then a third time, only stopping when he seemed satisfied.

"Better?"

 _Yes_.

"Good," she said, "though I don't know what else I can do for you. I should really send my Patron…"

 _No_.

She caught a flash of fear in his eyes, which helped her understand his reluctance. He had no way of knowing how the battle had ended, nor what might happen if he was forced to deal with people from _either_ side. He wouldn't want to face anyone who might see him as an enemy, especially when he was helpless to raise a wand in his own defense.

"Do you want to know what happened with the battle? I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner."

Clearly, this was what he'd been waiting for. He blinked once, his expression almost eager.

"Well," she said, "I don't know what you shared with Harry, but it must've done the trick. Voldemort is dead."

Snape grunted, closing his eyes in apparent relief.

"Shall I tell you the rest?"

 _Yes_.

She told him everything she could think of, describing Harry's supposed death along with Neville's moment of heroism, followed by the fall of Bellatrix and several other Death Eaters. His eyes widened as she explained Harry's return, relating every detail of the final showdown.

"Voldemort knew the truth," she said. "There at the end, Harry told him. Do you want to know what he said?"

 _Yes_.

"He said, 'Severus Snape wasn't yours. Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?'"

Snape's mouth twisted, his chest heaving with silent sobs. He lost consciousness, though only briefly, tears leaking from the corners of his tightly shut eyes. She knew then that this was why he'd struggled to stay alive, desperate to discover whether he'd succeeded or failed. Now that he knew, she could feel him slipping away, his pulse already fainter beneath her fingertips.

"It's not too late," she said hastily. "Stay with me just a little longer, all right? I'll get you some help."

"Nnnnno."

The word was barely distinguishable, more of a moan than anything else.

"So what do you expect me to do? Just leave you here to die?"

He opened his eyes, responding with one slow, deliberate blink.

"What?! I can't just…"

But it was too late to argue. He couldn't hear her now, his face going slack as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Only then did she notice the empty vial next to his hand, along with a couple others that had been discarded nearby. Potions? That explained how he'd been able to prolong his life for the past few hours, though whatever he'd taken was obviously wearing off now. Without further treatment, he'd soon be dead.

Should she let him go? Clearly, that was what he wanted, but he also believed he had nothing left to live for now that Voldemort was gone. What kind of future could he have possibly envisioned for himself? One full of pain and isolation, no doubt, perhaps even a permanent residence in Azkaban.

Of course, he couldn't have known that she'd already decided to stand up for him. He didn't know that there was one person in this world who cared enough to fight for his survival, even if he no longer had enough hope to fight for himself. She hadn't had a chance to tell him these things, hadn't even known she'd felt them until now. But they seemed right somehow, giving her the strength she needed to push herself to her feet.

"You might live to hate me for this," she told him as she conjured a stretcher, "but at least you'll be alive."

Getting him up to the castle wasn't easy. The trip back up the tunnel was painstakingly slow, his breathing erratic as she made her way across the grounds. But she still felt his pulse beneath her fingers, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly as she guided the stretcher through the front entrance.

"Hermione! What on earth…"

Molly's eyes widened as she came to stand beside Professor McGonagall, both of them staring at Hermione as if she'd lost her mind.

"Is that _Snape?_ Why would you…"

"Not now. Please."

Ignoring their stunned expressions, she took him straight to the Hospital Wing, meeting Poppy's narrowed eyes with a steely gaze of her own.

"He needs a bed. Blood Replenisher, Antivenin, whatever else you think will help."

"You want me to treat… I admire your compassion, dear, but after everything he's done…"

"You have no _idea_ what he's done," Hermione shot back. "Nor do I have time to tell you. Please, help him."

Maybe it was something in Hermione's voice. Maybe it was the look on her face. Whatever it was, Poppy seemed to deflate, shaking her head as she leaned over to inspect the wound.

"Well?"

"The venom has already been neutralized, though it still doesn't look good. He's lost a lot of blood."

"I know," Hermione said, remembering the impossibly large stain he'd left behind. "I think he took some Blood Replenisher? I found a couple of empty vials."

"Looks that way, yes, though it was nowhere near enough. He'd need to be dosed every hour for at least the next couple days. Even then, I'm not sure…"

"Then dose him. We'll never know until we try."

Poppy hesitated. "That potion is already in short supply. I can't allow others to go untreated for the sake of a…"

"He's not a Death Eater. I know it seemed that way, but… look, I don't have time to explain just now. What matters is that he needs treatment. I'm not leaving until he gets it."

"It isn't that simp…"

Poppy trailed off, returning her attention to Snape as he let out a rasping noise. Suddenly, he couldn't seem to catch his breath, his eyes flying open as he gasped for air. Hermione opened her own mouth, ready to beg for help, but Poppy had already lifted her wand. She touched it to the wound at his neck, murmuring several charms in rapid succession.

"What was that?" Hermione said, sighing in relief as Snape started to breathe more easily. "What did you do?"

"He's got two holes in his throat that aren't supposed to be there. Makes it much harder to draw in enough air, especially in his weakened condition."

"You sealed them off?"

Poppy nodded. "I don't know how long it will hold, but it should be good enough for now."

Snape's eyes were still open, but he wasn't looking at them. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his expression bewildered.

"Professor Snape?"

"I doubt he can hear you," Poppy said, withdrawing a vial from her pocket. "The blood loss is hitting him hard now, not helped by lingering shock and a great deal of pain. He's delirious – would probably be ranting and raving if he was capable of speech."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Hold his mouth open, will you? I need to get these potions in him."

Hesitantly, Hermione brought her hand to Snape's face, sliding a thumb between his lips.

"A little wider. Yes, that's good." Poppy leaned forward, dribbling a bit of Blood Replenisher onto his tongue. She waited for his reflexive swallow and then repeated the process, emptying the vial before she reached for a different potion.

"What's that?"

"Pain reliever. Strongest one I have. It'll put him out for a day or two, though that's probably for the best. If he's going to recover, his body will need plenty of time to rest and heal."

"What are his chances?"

"Truthfully?" Poppy sighed. "I don't know. I've never seen a wound like this, nor anyone who managed to survive after losing so much blood."

"But he's made it this far," Hermione pointed out. "Isn't that a good sign?"

"Maybe, though it won't matter if I don't have enough potion to go around. I'm hoping for a delivery from St. Mungo's, but I'm not sure when…"

"Blood Replenisher," Hermione interrupted. "Is that all he needs?"

"That's the most urgent one, yes, especially since he'll need a great deal of it. I'm a little low on pain reliever, but we should have enough to get by."

Hermione glanced at Snape, relieved to see that he was unconscious again, his face no longer contorted with pain.

"I need to go take care of something," she said. "Will he be all right here?"

Poppy shrugged. "There are plenty who won't be happy about it, but I'll not have anyone causing trouble in my ward. I'll put him down at the end where he's less likely to be disturbed."

"If anything happens…"

"You'll be the first to know."

"Thank you," Hermione said as she turned to leave. "I'll be back a little later."

She hadn't realized how tired she was, her eyes bleary as she trudged down the hall. Nonetheless, she headed straight for the dungeons, not stopping until she'd reached Professor Slughorn's office. She knocked several times, on the verge of giving up when he finally opened the door.

"Ah," he said, smoothing a hand over his striped pajamas. "One third of the famous Golden Trio! What can I do for you, my dear?"

"I need bat wings," she said, "salamander blood and toadstool caps. Do you have them?"

"I do, though I can't imagine wanting to brew at a time like this. Shouldn't you be off celebrating?"

"The last thing I want to do right now is celebrate. Please, I just need to make a couple potions."

"Right," he said. "Come with me."

At first, she was afraid that he'd stick around to supervise her. Instead, he unlocked the storeroom, telling her to help herself to whatever she needed.

"Now if you'll excuse me, dear, I really must be getting back to bed."

"Of course. Thank you, Professor Slughorn."

Hermione didn't know how long she stayed in the Potions classroom, barely able to keep her eyes open as she set half a dozen cauldrons to simmer. She produced one batch and then another, refusing to stop until every bit of the ingredients had been used.

At half past midnight, she finally made her way back to the Hospital Wing, her arms laden down with several trays of potions. She set them on the floor next to Snape's bed, taking a moment to check on his condition. He looked slightly better, his neck now bandaged with strips of clean white linen.

"Good gracious! How did you…" Poppy trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Will it be enough?"

"Yes, I'd say so. In fact, I'd be surprised if I didn't have plenty left over."

Hermione nodded, reaching up to stifle a yawn. "All right then. I'll see you tomorrow."

She didn't know how she made it up to Gryffindor tower, nor did she have the energy to speak to Harry or Ron. She didn't even have it in her to wonder what the morning would bring, what the future might hold for Snape or how he'd feel about what she'd done. All she could do was collapse on the closest couch, feeling strangely satisfied as she drifted off to sleep.


	2. Aftermath

##  **Chapter 2: Aftermath**

* * *

"What happened?" Hermione said as she followed Harry into Ron's bedroom. "Did they set a date for the trial?"

He shook his head. "Still gathering evidence."

"Evidence? What kind of…"

"Geez, Hermione. Give him a second to catch his breath."

She shot an irritated glance at Ron, though her annoyance faded as she turned back to Harry. His face was even paler than usual, his movements sluggish as he sat down on the bed. 

"Sorry," she said, struggling to control her impatience. "We can talk about it tomorrow if you want."

He shrugged. "Not much to say, really."

"Not much to _say?_ Harry, you were gone for 14 hours!"

"Knowing the Ministry," Ron said, "he probably spent most of the time just waiting around."

"Yeah, when I wasn't signing autographs."

Harry grimaced, clearly uncomfortable with his newfound fame. The trip to the Ministry had been his first public outing since the battle – Hermione could only imagine how much unwanted attention he'd received. Really, it was a shame he hadn't asked her and Ron to come with him. If nothing else, they could've at least provided a buffer of sorts.

"But you _did_ speak to someone, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I talked to Kingsley."

"Did you tell him about the memories?"

"A bit." Harry hesitated, plucking at a loose thread in his trousers. "I told him the truth about Dumbledore, which was the most important thing. Some of the other stuff… I don't think Snape would want…"

" _Professor_ Snape," she corrected automatically.

"Professor?" Ron snorted. "Wasn't he sacked?"

"Only because the other professors thought he was loyal to Voldemort."

"Either way, he's not a teacher anymore."

"Maybe not, but I still think it's nice to…" She trailed off, realizing that Ron had a point. Whatever Snape chose to do in the future, it seemed highly unlikely that he'd ever return to Hogwarts.

"Anyway," Harry said, "I don't think he'd want me sharing some of those things."

"I know, Harry, but if that's what it takes to keep him out of Azkaban…"

"He's not going to Azkaban."

There was no point in questioning him any further. He spoke with absolute conviction, making it clear that in _his_ mind, at least, the decision had already been made. She knew then that he'd stop at nothing to keep Snape out of prison. Granted, he might not want to reveal anything too private, but if it came down to that, he'd do what needed to be done.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What you saw in the Pensieve…"

He shifted his gaze to the wall, his expression guarded. "What about it?"

She'd heard what he'd told Voldemort, of course. Snape had been loyal to Dumbledore, having switched sides for Lily Potter's sake. He'd done everything in his power to save her, and when that had failed, he'd sworn to protect her son instead. Why? 

Because he'd loved her. 

It seemed simple enough, yet Hermione still had numerous questions. To think that Snape had cared for someone so deeply, a devotion that had changed the entire course of his life? She had no idea how to reconcile that with the man she'd known. That Snape had been cold and unyielding, never seeming to give a damn about anyone.

Then again, that wasn't exactly true, was it? He'd certainly given a damn where Harry was concerned, reacting to even the smallest transgression with harsh words or punishments. Granted, some of that could be chalked up to mutual dislike, but what about the rest of it? 

"I know you don't want to tell us what you saw…"

"It's not that I don't _want_ to," Harry interrupted. "It's just private, you know? I mean, he only shared those things with me because…"

"Because he had no other choice," she finished for him. 

"Right. We would've lost the war if he hadn't done what he did."

She hesitated, recalling that horrific scene in the Shrieking Shack. Vividly, she pictured Snape's agonized expression, his mouth twisting as he'd uttered his final words.

_"Look… at… me…"_

In that moment, none of them could've predicted his survival. He'd spoken with the desperation of a dying man, a flash of perfect clarity after a lifetime of concealment. But what did it mean? She'd been trying to figure that out for weeks, realizing that for one fleeting moment, Snape had revealed the truth of who he was. 

"How's your mum?" Harry said, turning his attention to Ron. "Have you seen her today?"

Ron shook his head, his expression grim. "Tried knocking on the door this afternoon. She didn't answer."

They'd been at the Burrow for nearly a month, though it might as well have been the day after the battle as far as Molly was concerned. She still spent most of her time in the twins' old bedroom, looking like a ghost on the rare occasions she came out to check on Ron and Ginny.

Arthur was grieving, too, though he seemed to find solace in work. He left before sunrise each morning, not returning until well after nightfall. Ron's brothers were coping in much the same way. Bill and Percy had returned to their jobs a couple days after the battle, while Charlie had quickly escaped to the continent. 

As for George…

"I'm starving," Ron said, obviously eager to change the subject. "Hermione, do you think you could…"

"There's pizza downstairs," Harry said. 

"Really? Thanks, mate."

Hermione shook her head, keeping her thoughts to herself as Ron left the room. True, it _was_ rather obnoxious that he still expected others to cater to his needs. But he'd had to grow up in other, infinitely harder ways, which made her feel like she should cut him some slack.

"How's Professor Snape?" she said as soon as he was gone. "Did you hear anything?"

Harry yawned, lifting his glasses to rub his eyes. "Still at St. Mungo's. Kingsley says his condition hasn't changed much."

"Are they sure he's not…" She trailed off, remembering the last time she'd seen Snape. His eyes had been fixed on the ceiling, his expression blank. Even when the healers had shown up to transport him to St. Mungo's, he hadn't reacted, lying so still he might as well have been carved from stone.

Harry shook his head. "It's not that he _can't_ respond. Just… doesn't want to, I guess."

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

"What do you mean?"

"He wanted to die. Told me to leave him alone and let him die."

"Yeah, well…" Harry hesitated, giving her hand a little squeeze. "No point in feeling guilty about it. You did the only thing you could do."

"Maybe," she said, "though if he never comes out of this…"

"If he doesn't, you shouldn't blame yourself. Really, you shouldn't. You've given him a chance to put the past behind him, to live in a world where he won't have to serve Voldemort or Dumbledore, or…"

"A chance to live for himself."

"Right. It's up to him whether he takes that chance."

"What if he doesn't?"

Harry shrugged. "Then he's an idiot."

Hermione opened her mouth, only to close it again as Ron returned. He had a half eaten slice of pizza in one hand, his expression cheerful as he plopped on the bed in between them.

"What'd I miss?"

"Nothing much," Harry said as he got to his feet. "I think I'll go see what Ginny's up to."

"Harry, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"I…" She trailed off, realizing she'd run out of excuses to keep him around. "Um, just… tell Gin she'll have the room to herself tonight."

"Are you sure?"

Harry didn't bother to hide his hopeful expression, which made her feel terribly guilty. She nodded, watching him make a futile attempt to straighten his hair before he hurried out of the room. 

"'Mione?"

She jumped, startled by Ron's voice as it broke the awkward silence. "Yeah?"

"C'mere."

"Um, I was just about to go down and get some pizza."

She heard him sigh, resisting the urge to flinch as he laid a hand on her back. He moved to sit beside her, his forehead wrinkled in consternation.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I haven't had dinner, that's all."

It was a lie and they both knew it, though Ron was gracious enough not to point it out. He sat there quietly instead, waiting for an explanation she didn't know how to give.

"Nothing's wrong," she said more firmly. "It's just… things have been a bit weird since the battle, you know?"

A shadow passed over his features, reminding her that he'd been struggling, too. Unfortunately, they seemed to be coping in opposite ways. He obviously craved closeness, while she desperately needed space. That was why she'd spent the last three weeks looking for any excuse to keep Harry around. It was the only way to maintain a little distance without hurting Ron's feelings.

"I know," he said. "I just want everything to be okay between us."

"Everything's fine."

This time, he chose to believe her, sighing in relief as he pulled her into his arms. She didn't resist, parting her lips ever so slightly as his mouth covered hers. Really, this wasn't so bad, was it? If a bit of snogging was all it took to make him feel better…

" _Ron!_ "

Hastily, she pulled away, yanking her top down as she did so.

"Sorry," he said. "I just thought… you know, since we're together now…"

"We _are_ together," she interrupted. "But let's slow down a bit, all right?"

"Okay."

Before she knew it, they were kissing again, though this time, Ron made more of an effort to restrain himself. He kept his hands in her hair, his touch so gentle that she began to relax. She let him ease her onto her back, sighing softly as he brushed his lips against her neck.

Yes, this was _much_ better. If he could just…

"Ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"You know," he whispered, his breath suddenly hot in her ear. "Ready to shag."

"Ready to _shag?_ " She shook her head, pushing herself into a sitting position. "Didn't I _just_ tell you to slow down?"

"If you want a bit more snogging before we…" Ron trailed off, his expression bewildered. "I mean, I don't know how long it takes to warm girls up, but if you tell me what to do, I'll be happy to do it."

" _Warm girls up?!_ "

Only then did she realize that "slow down" meant something quite different to Ron. He obviously assumed they were on the brink of having sex, though she had no idea how he'd come to that conclusion. Wishful thinking, perhaps? Either way, he certainly hadn't consulted _her_ on the matter.

"I'm not ready to do that, okay? Not tonight, and not anytime soon."

She hadn't meant to be so blunt, but it was too late to take it back. Ron looked crushed, his mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to respond.

"I don't understand. I mean, we've already waited so long…"

The truth was, Hermione didn't understand it either. It just felt wrong somehow, even more so in light of Ron's growing impatience. Was it really just a matter of not being ready? She wanted to think so, though deep down, she knew it was much more complicated than that.

"Look, I just don't feel like it, all right? I'm sorry."

Ron didn't respond, nor did he tell her goodnight as she turned and left the room. He glared at the wall instead, reminding her of a petulant child.

Perhaps that was the real problem. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd outgrown him somehow, like the right moment had already come and gone. But how was that possible? Just three weeks ago, she'd been kissing him in the middle of battle, oblivious to anything but him. She'd loved him fiercely in that moment, utterly convinced that he was everything she'd ever wanted. 

What had changed in just a few short weeks? More importantly, how could she get back to the way things were before?

She made her way downstairs, resisting the urge to cry as she curled up on the couch. Suddenly, she felt tired, so very tired, weighed down by the strained silence that had permeated the Burrow ever since the battle. She didn't know what she'd expected after Voldemort's defeat, but it wasn't this. 

Would it ever get easier? She hoped so, though she had no idea how to make that happen. All she could do was close her eyes, haunted by Ron's disappointed expression as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_Blood. So much blood. It seeped into the floorboards, bright red torrents still gushing from the wound in Snape's neck. That terrible scream still echoed in Hermione's ears, though the gurgling sound that followed was infinitely worse._

_"Take… it. Take… it."_

_She moved forward, conjuring a flask as she did so. And then there was nothing to do but retreat back into the shadows, watching helplessly as Snape clutched at Harry's robes._

_He wasn't her enemy. She knew that now, though deep down, she supposed she'd known it all along. How had she known? She struggled to answer that question, even as Snape's battle came to an end. His hand dropped to the floor, twitching once before it lay still._

_Harry didn't cry. None of them did, though she heard someone sobbing in the distance. Who was it? Did it matter? They had to go. Voldemort was calling… they had to go._

_But as she turned to leave, it wasn't Voldemort's voice she heard. It was Snape's._

_"Look… at… me…"_

_He hadn't said those words to her. He'd directed them at Harry, pushing them out with his last, gasping breath. Still, the memory was enough to make her glance back over her shoulder, followed by the strange sensation that she'd never truly seen Professor Snape before that night. She'd certainly never seen him the way he was just then, his features slack, lying utterly still in the semi darkness. Was that how he'd looked when he'd slept? What had he dreamt about?_

_But of course, he wasn't asleep. He was dead. There was no point to her newfound curiosity, nothing to do but leave him behind. She turned away, Ron's hand clutching hers as he pulled her into the tunnel._

_"Don't go."_

_Again, she heard Snape speak, though these words were quite unlike the others. His voice was soft yet strong, no hint of the painful rasp she'd heard before. She tried to turn back but it was too late. Ron wouldn't let her go, his fingers woven tightly through hers as he dragged her back toward the world above._

"WAIT!"

Hermione jolted awake, her breath catching on a sob. She pressed a hand to her swiftly beating heart, struggling to orient herself with her surroundings.

"All right, Hermione?"

She jumped, only to sigh in relief as she spotted a familiar figure at the foot of the stairs. As usual, Arthur was dressed for work, his face in shadow despite the pale gray light that crept in through the windows.

"Fine," she said. "What time is it?

"Half past five. Do you need anything? I can make you some toast."

She shook her head, remembering his last attempt to make breakfast. He'd insisted on using a Muggle toaster, producing slices of charred bread that had been hard enough to chip a tooth. As for what had happened with the blender…

"Thank you, but I'm not really hungry."

He nodded. "Well, I best be off to work then."

She waited for him to leave before she trudged upstairs to take a shower, still shaken by her nightmare. Of course, it was far from the first one she'd had, but why did it seem like they were getting worse? She felt like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks, not helped by the issues she'd been having with Ron.

By the time she got out of the shower, she felt a little better, taking a minute to fix her hair before she slipped into the sundress she'd borrowed from Ginny. She even put on a bit of lipgloss, something she hadn't done since long before the battle.

"Wow."

Until then, she hadn't realized how much she'd been neglecting herself. She stared at her reflection, unable to remember the last time she'd worn anything other than old jeans and a ratty jumper. Her hair looked better than it had in months, thoroughly brushed and woven into a neat braid.

Despite that, she was unnerved by her appearance. She'd lost more weight than she'd realized, her features almost gaunt. It didn't help that she was unnaturally pale, her skin almost translucent from lack of sunlight.

Sunlight. That was her problem. She hadn't left the Burrow in weeks, hadn't even bothered to step outside since their arrival. Really, it was no wonder she looked unhealthy. She'd shut herself up like a prisoner, oblivious to her surroundings as she'd struggled to get through each day.

Was this why Snape had looked the way he had? Try as she might, she couldn't deny the resemblance.

 _Greasy old bat_.

Unlike the other students, she'd never called him names, though she _had_ wondered why he didn't bother with his appearance. Now she understood, realizing that things like taking care of his hair probably hadn't even occurred to him. He'd been too busy dealing with the war, determined to keep himself alive until the very end.

Survival. That had been her focus too, a mindset that still persisted despite Voldemort's defeat. She'd grown far too used to living in hiding, ignoring trivial matters in favor of more urgent concerns.

Slowly, she picked up her wand, adding a touch of color to her cheeks and lips. She erased the dark circles under her eyes, though she chose to leave the angular shape of her face intact. It made her look older, more mature, a change she was already beginning to like. True, it wouldn't hurt for her to gain a little weight, but she didn't need a glamour for that.

With that thought, she headed to the kitchen, fixing herself a plate of eggs and bacon. She could only finish half of it, but… well, it was a start.

The time for survival was behind her. Now was the time for recovery, shifting her focus to all the little things she'd nearly forgotten. Plenty of rest. Regular, healthy meals. Perhaps even a bit of fresh air?

That, she realized, was what she'd been missing most of all. How long had it been since she'd had the luxury of moving freely throughout the world? When was the last time she'd gone somewhere simply because she'd wanted to? 

Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic, the heavy silence of the Burrow seeming to press in on her from all sides. What had once been a refuge now felt like a prison, one she couldn't have been more desperate to escape. 

" _Accio_ quill and parchment!"

 _Went out for a bit_ , she scrawled hastily. _Back before dinner._

The moment she stepped outside, all the tension seemed to drain out of her. She breathed in the scent of fresh greenery, sunlight warming her skin as she stopped to pick a few flowers. They were quite lovely, really, cornflowers mingled with pale pink peonies. She conjured a ribbon, tying them into a makeshift bouquet.

"So," she said to herself. "Where shall I go?"

She turned on her heel, her thoughts focused on Diagon Alley. But then a stronger, more insistent vision appeared in her mind, whisking her away to somewhere else entirely.

* * *

"Visitor or patient?"

He wouldn't want to see her. Why on earth had she bothered to come?

"Well?" The Welcome Witch scowled, glancing past her at several new arrivals.

"Um."

He wouldn't want to see her, but she _needed_ to see him. Maybe it would help her understand…

"I'm sorry, Miss, but can you hurry up? I've got vermin coming out of my ears here."

"Visitor," she said hastily. "I'm here to see Severus Snape."

"First Floor."

Unlike the reception area, the Dai Llewellyn Ward was unnaturally quiet. Only her own footsteps pierced the silence, reminding her that she was an intruder in this place. Really, what was she thinking? Maybe she shouldn't…

"Good morning! Are you here for Mr. Snape?"

She jumped, caught off guard by the healer who'd just materialized from the closest room. _Snape's_ room.

Her heart pounded furiously, her mind assaulted by unpleasant memories. She cringed as she remembered Professor Snape's harsh words, his insults, the cold, contemptuous way he'd looked at her no matter how hard she'd tried to please him. Eyes full of ridicule. Eyes full of disgust.

_"Look… at… me…"_

Eyes full of suffering.

"Yes, I…" She cleared her throat. "I'd like to see him."

"Brilliant." The healer smiled, tucking a wisp of silver hair behind her ear. "You're the first visitor he's had."

"Really?" 

"Well, other than those fools from the Ministry. Why they keep bothering him with all their questions is beyond me. The poor man can't even speak!"

"I'm not here to bother him," Hermione said hastily. "I just want to see how he's doing."

The healer nodded. "Go on in, dear. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Hermione doubted that, though she knew it was too late to turn back. She took a deep breath, her body rigid with tension as she stepped through the doorway.

"Oh."

To her relief, Professor Snape had never seemed _less_ intimidating then he did just then. His usual black had been replaced by a white cotton robe, matching the pristine bandages around his neck. His hair appeared to be freshly washed, swept back from a face that was thinner, more gaunt than she remembered, cheekbones etched in sharp relief beneath crescents of thick black lashes.

"That's okay," she whispered to the healer as she turned to leave. "I'll just come back when he's awake."

"Ah, no need for that. Mr. Snape? _Mr. Snape!_ "

"No, please…" 

She cringed as Snape's eyes snapped open, darting around the room before they fixed on her. With that, she knew he was neither unresponsive or oblivious to his surroundings. His gaze was sharp and alert, the corners of his mouth turning down in a barely perceptible grimace.

"Mr. Snape, you have a visitor."

Before she could react, the healer left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. 

"Hi," she said after a moment, desperate to fill the awkward silence. "I… um, I brought you some flowers. I mean, I don't know if you even _like_ flowers, but I saw them when I was walking outside the Burrow, and I just thought…"

Snape gave the bouquet a passing glance, his dark eyes returning to her face.

"That's where I've been staying for the past few weeks. The Burrow. I didn't have anywhere else to go, really. My parents…" well, I won't go into all that. I'm sure you don't want…"

She trailed off, searching his features for some sign of emotion. Boredom? Annoyance? Pure, unadulterated hatred? She saw none of those things, only that same inscrutable stare.

"I know you can't talk," she said, "but there must be other ways for you to communicate. You can still blink, right?"

He fluttered his eyelashes, giving her what she could only interpret as a sarcastic look.

"Good. How about once for yes, twice for no, just like we did on the night…"

Suddenly, his feelings were all too clear, his jaw tightening as he shifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I mean, for bringing it up, not for saving you. I can't apologize for that, even if… do you want me to stop talking about this?"

He blinked once, slow and deliberate.

"Well, why don't I tell you about the books I ordered the other day?"

Again, he responded with a single blink, looking somewhat more relaxed.

"Let's see," she said, encouraged by his response. "I got all my seventh year textbooks. Not that I'm planning on going back to Hogwarts, but I thought it would be good to familiarize myself with the material. I've also ordered some magical history books from other countries – China, Egypt, India, the United States. I've always been interested in other cultures. You know, how their practices differ from ours? I might like to study that more seriously someday."

She paused, searching his face for any sign of boredom. Instead, he looked expectant, almost as if he _wanted_ her to continue.

"Of course," she said, "I'd have to actually go to those places to study them properly."

Snape made a tiny, barely audible noise, which seemed to be an expression of agreement.

"Have you ever traveled?" she asked him. "Well, I guess you haven't had much of a chance before now, but you'll be able to do whatever you like once you've recovered."

His jaw tightened again, reminding her that the future must seem frightening from his perspective. Why hadn't she set his mind at ease to begin with? Here she was, rattling on about books and travel, while he'd probably spent the past few weeks dreading the possibility of imprisonment.

"I know you must be worried," she said quietly, "But you're not going to Azkaban. Harry's doing everything he can to get your name cleared. He's been interviewed by the Ministry, and…"

She trailed off, startled by the abrupt entrance as the healer bustled into the room.

"All right, dear. Visiting hours are over."

"What? But I just got here!"

"Mr. Snape is feeling tired."

"How did you…" She shook her head, spotting a small object in Snape's palm. Clearly, he _did_ have ways of communicating with the healers, which he had no problem using if his visitor tread on dangerous ground. For a split second, he almost looked smug, though his face quickly smoothed out into that same inscrutable expression.

"Right," she muttered, trying not to sound peevish as the healer ushered her out of the room. "I guess I'll see you later."

* * *

Overall, Hermione thought her visit with Snape had gone well. That was especially true now that she knew he'd had a choice in the matter. He could've summoned the healer much sooner, yet he hadn't. He'd only done so when she'd brought up a topic he clearly wasn't ready to hear about.

Really, she should've known better. The night he'd almost died was obviously painful to recall, as were the memories he'd chosen to share with Harry. She'd just have to be more careful in the future, sticking to whatever subjects he seemed to find tolerable.

"Where'd you go yesterday?" Ron asked her at breakfast the next morning.

"Nowhere, really. Just took a walk."

"Really?" He hesitated, clearing his throat rather loudly before he continued. "Well, look, I did want to apologize. About the other night, I mean. I wasn't trying to rush you."

"It's all right."

"If you need to wait, I'm okay with that. Will you just… can you tell me when you _are_ ready? I'd rather not try again unless…"

"Sure," she said, managing to flash him a little smile. "I can do that."

He grinned back, obviously relieved that things were okay between them. Perhaps they were, at least for the moment, but she couldn't help worrying what would happen in the future. What if her feelings didn't change anytime soon? Would he still be patient after a few weeks, a couple months…

"Hey," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "How about a game of chess?"

"Oh, um, can we play later tonight? I have plans this afternoon."

"Plans?" 

He looked confused, though to be fair, she could understand his reaction. It had been weeks since she'd attempted to do… well, much of _anything_ , really.

"Yeah," she said. "Thought I'd go down to Flourish & Blotts. I forgot to order that Arithmancy textbook I wanted."

"Hermione, we're not in school."

"You're not on the Quidditch team either, but that doesn't stop you from playing all the time."

"That's different."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Ron shrugged. "Quidditch is fun."

"To you, maybe. Personally, I'd _much_ rather…"

"Speaking of Quidditch," Harry said as he wandered into the kitchen. "Do you want to go down and check out the new broomsticks?"

"Sure." Ron paused, stuffing a last piece of toast in his mouth. "Hey, Hermione's already headed that way. Why don't we all go together?"

"Great! I'll see if Ginny wants to come."

Hermione sighed, unable to think of an excuse to avoid the outing. How could she explain that what she _really_ wanted was a little time to herself? They wouldn't understand, especially if they assumed she was planning to visit Diagon Alley. Shopping was a social event, after all, the type of thing they'd always done together.

Of course, they did _everything_ together. That was the problem. They'd been cooped up in the same house for nearly a month now, and before that… well, life on the run hadn't left much room for personal space. 

"Ready?"

She nodded, trailing behind her friends as they headed for the Apparition point. Taking Ron's arm, she turned on her heel, closing her eyes against the dizzying whirl of shapes and colors.

"So," Harry said when they'd reached their destination. "Where to first?"

"Quality Quidditch, of course."

Sighing in resignation, she followed them into the shop. She'd never understood what was so fascinating about broomsticks, but they examined them for what seemed like hours, followed by a lengthy discussion with the shopkeeper. He persuaded Harry to sign several pieces of merchandise, thanking him profusely as he set the items back on the shelf.

"I'd be happy to give you a share of the profits."

"Um, that's really not necessary."

It was Harry's embarrassment that gave Hermione a reprieve, his cheeks crimson as he hurried out of the shop. 

"Hey," Ginny said. "How about some Fortescue's?"

They headed to the ice cream parlor, which had recently been reopened by Florean's niece. If she was saddened by her uncle's death, she didn't show it, flashing each of them a cheery smile as she handed them their cones.

"So," Harry said a few minutes later. "Where to next?"

"Um." Ginny hesitated, shooting a quick look at her brother. "We thought we'd go check on George."

Harry nodded. "We'll just meet back up later, then."

"You sure?" Ron said.

"Of course," Hermione said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Give George our love, all right?"

"Okay."

 _Inseparable_. That word was usually meant as a compliment, but it wasn't necessarily a good thing. True, it had been unavoidable toward the end of the war, when relying on each other was often a matter of life or death. But now? She couldn't help but notice the way Ron glanced back over his shoulder, his expression anxious as he and Ginny disappeared around the corner.

"So," Harry said, flashing her a little smile. "Flourish & Blotts, then?"

"It'll probably take hours to find what I want. Isn't there something else you'd rather do?"

He shrugged. "I really don't mind."

"I know, but…"

"Are you Harry Potter?"

They both turned around, coming face to face with a rather large group of girls. None of them could've been more than 13 years old, their little faces bright with excitement as they waited for confirmation.

"Um, yeah," Harry said.

" _I knew it!_ " one of the girls screeched.

"He's even more handsome in person!" exclaimed another.

A third girl stepped forward, visibly trembling as she thrust a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ at Harry's chest. It had been published the day after the battle, his tired yet triumphant face emblazoned across the cover.

"Mr. Potter, may I have your autograph?"

Swallowing her guilt, Hermione seized the opportunity she'd been given. She slipped away without Harry's notice, her heart pounding as she made her way out to the London street. Only then did she feel like she could breathe freely, every muscle in her body seeming to relax.

She loved her friends. Really, she did. But she also needed time to herself, something she hadn't fully realized until her visit to St. Mungo's. Doing something on her own… making choices without having to consult Harry or Ron…

That, she supposed, was why she hadn't told them she'd gone to visit Snape. It was _her_ choice, after all, not theirs. True, Harry would understand, but _Ron?_ She didn't need his input, didn't feel like dealing with his confusion and snarky remarks.

If that meant she had to lie to him? Well, so be it. She had a right to her privacy.

She turned on her heel, closing her eyes as she Apparated to St. Mungo's. This time, she didn't hesitate, passing quickly through the reception area on her way to the first floor.

"May I help you?" the Welcome Witch called.

"No, thanks. I know where I'm going."


	3. Recovery

##  **Chapter 3: Recovery**

* * *

"Professor Snape?"

The figure on the bed remained perfectly still, not bothering to react as Hermione transfigured a stool. She sat down beside him, refusing to feel discouraged as she pulled a book out of her bag.

"I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. It's not easy carrying on a one-sided conversation, but I should've known better than to…"

Snape's chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh, letting her know he was already growing impatient with her.

"Anyway," she said hastily. "I thought it might be better if I read to you. Would you like that?"

He showed no hint of encouragement, though to be fair, he didn't try to stop her either. She took a deep breath, flipping to the title page.

"Hieroglyphical Magic: A History of Ancient Egypt."

The book turned out to be quite tedious, even by her standards. She managed to get through the first chapter, expecting the healer to come shoo her away at any moment. Instead, Snape gradually turned his head in her direction, his fingers nowhere near the alert button.

When she finished the third chapter, she paused for a sip of water, giving him a dubious look.

"Do you want me to stop?"

He made a peculiar noise, one that almost sounded like a grunt of displeasure.

"Guess not," she said, resisting the urge to smile. "All right then, where were we?"

She was halfway through the fifth chapter when he finally fell asleep. His breathing became deeper, more even, his relaxed expression softening his harsh features.

"I'll come back tomorrow," she whispered, tucking the book away. "Promise."

* * *

Unfortunately, Hermione's third visit didn't go as well as the second. She arrived the next morning to discover that Snape's bandages had been removed, revealing the half healed wounds beneath. The sight was jarring, angry slashes standing out in sharp relief against his pale skin.

She tried to hide her reaction, but it was too late for that. He jerked his head away, followed by a hiss of pain as he fumbled for the alert button.

"I'm sorry, dear," the healer said as she ushered her out of the room. "I guess he's not in the mood for visitors today."

"Maybe I shouldn't come back."

"Nonsense! Why would you say that?"

"Well, I'm obviously not helping. I upset him even when I don't mean to, I…"

Shaking her head, the healer put an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "You've already made a world of difference."

"What do you mean?"

"Before you showed up, he was… lifeless. Didn't react to anything, not even the pain. Now? I don't know what you did, but…"

"Maybe I annoyed him into responding."

"Maybe," the healer said, her lips twitching. "Though it's still a huge improvement."

* * *

Hermione waited three days before she returned to the hospital. She stood in the doorway to Snape's room, waiting for him to reach for the alert button. Instead, he only moved his eyes, his gaze flickering to the chair that had been placed beside the bed. 

It was quite different than the stool she'd transfigured. The chair was much nicer, though obviously well used, upholstered in a delicate floral pattern. 

She knew better than to ask questions, though she desperately wanted to know how it had gotten there. Had the healer brought it? Well, of course she had, but was it her idea? Or had she done it at Snape's request?

"Comfortable," she said as she sat down, watching him closely. He didn't react to her comment, his eyes fixed on her beaded bag.

She sighed, feeling like an idiot. To think that _Snape_ of all people would be concerned about her comfort? True, he might be willing to tolerate her presence to some degree, but why on earth would he do her any favors?

"Shall I read a little more?"

This time, he _did_ respond, inclining his head just the slightest degree. He closed his eyes, seeming to relax as she picked up where they'd left off.

He couldn't have been interested in the material. Hermione had never read a more tedious book, convoluted descriptions followed by exhaustive lists of places, names, and dates. But he seemed neither irritated or bored, as if what he truly enjoyed was the simple act of being read to.

Deciding to test this theory, she returned the next day with a different book. She flipped open the cover, convinced he'd have her kicked out before she made it through the first paragraph.

"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," she read aloud. "By Lewis Carroll."

Other than a raised eyebrow, he didn't react. He just gazed up at the ceiling, still wide awake when she finished the final chapter.

"Did you like it?" she asked him. "I know it's a Muggle book, but it was always one of my favorites. When I was little…"

"I'm sorry," the healer said as she stepped into the room, "but visiting hours are over."

For a crushing moment, Hermione thought Snape had decided to send her away. She quickly realized that wasn't the case, comforted by his startled expression. Startled… and maybe even a little disappointed? Whatever it was, he didn't seem happy about the intrusion.

"What time is it?" she asked the healer.

"9:30. I gave you an extra half hour, but I really can't…"

"9:30?! Oh no!"

She grabbed her bag, scolding herself for losing track of time. Then again, was it really so surprising? The afternoon had been incredibly relaxing, allowing her to forget the world and all its complications.

Maybe that was why Snape didn't care what she chose to read. No matter what it was, it gave him something to focus on that had nothing to do with what he'd been through. That was true for both of them, she realized. Reading was a welcome distraction, a much-needed escape from the harsh realities that still haunted them both.

"Sleep well," she told him as she hurried from the room. "I'll be back tomorrow."

* * *

Hermione returned the following morning, trying not to scowl as she dropped into the chair beside Snape. She soon realized there was no point in hiding her feelings – he was far too perceptive, watching her with what she interpreted as mild curiosity.

"I hate boys," she told him. "More trouble than they're worth, really."

To her surprise, he grunted in an obvious sign of agreement. Feeling mollified, she pulled several items out of her bag, setting them on the bedside table.

"I've brought the latest issues of _Potions Weekly_ and the _Daily Prophet_. If you're not interested in either of those, we can continue with Egyptian magical history. I've also got a book on Transfiguration, two on obscure charms and spellwork, and…" She hesitated, picking up the final book. "Shakespeare."

She held each of them up, watching for his subtle cues. Finally, he gave a slight nod, surprising her by choosing the only book that was distinctly Muggle. 

"All right," she said. "There are six plays here, so why don't we just start at the beginning?"

She read the opening scene of "As You Like It", her bad mood gradually fading. Oh, it still bothered her that she'd fought with Ron, who couldn't seem to understand her need for privacy. She felt guilty for lying to him, but she wasn't doing anything _wrong_ , was she? It wasn't like she'd been sneaking around with another boy, or…

Glancing over at Snape, she lost her train of thought. He'd never looked so peaceful, soothed by the elegant, archaic text she was reading. Deciding he had the right idea, she put Ron out of her mind, focusing her attention on the first act. She'd just made it to the third when someone knocked on the door, echoed by a huff of surprise from Snape.

"They're back," the healer said, scowling as she swept into the room. "Though I'm not sure why they bother. They _know_ he isn't responsive. I've told them a dozen times that I'd let them know when that changes."

Snape's features twisted, his eyes narrowing as Hermione heard voices in the hall. By the time the Ministry officials entered the room, he was perfectly composed, his eyes as blank as his expression.

"Come on, dear. Let's you and I have a cup of tea."

"Really?"

"I don't see why not," the healer said, closing the door behind them. "I've only got two patients, and I don't imagine either of them will need me for a bit."

Her name, Hermione learned, was Amaryllis. She'd been at St. Mungo's for more than 30 years, though she'd only recently been transferred to her current ward.

"We were stretched pretty thin after the battle," she explained. "Had to do some shuffling around. I've never seen so many injured, not even during the First War. Fortunately, most of them have been treated and released."

"That's good."

"As for your friend…"

"My _friend?_ " It was bizarre to hear Snape referred to that way, though Hermione didn't know how to clarify their relationship. She took another sip of tea instead, waiting for Amaryllis to continue.

"He's taking a bit longer to recover, though that's only to be expected. Really, it's a miracle he survived."

"Do you think he'll ever be able to talk again?"

"Oh, sure. He could talk right now if he wanted to."

"What?!" She shook her head, staring at Amaryllis in disbelief. "Then why hasn't he… how do you know?"

"The inside of his throat is mostly healed, but it isn't just that. I've heard him cry out in the night a couple times. Trust me, the words were perfectly intelligible."

"If that's true, I don't understand… well, no, I guess I _do_ understand."

Amaryllis nodded. "It isn't just about physical recovery. That's one thing you learn after three decades of healing. Mr. Snape is still recuperating in other ways… I think the lack of speech is giving him the space he needs to do that."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's not up to dealing with the Ministry quite yet."

Speaking of which…" Draining her teacup, Amaryllis got to her feet. "It's been 20 minutes. I only have to give them 15 before I'm allowed to kick them out."

Hermione followed her back to Snape's room, waiting outside as she dealt with the Ministry officials. A second later, they came rushing out, their expressions harried.

"Can I go back in?"

"Probably not a good idea right now. He's a bit… agitated. I've given him some Dreamless Sleep."

Hermione nodded, swallowing her disappointment. "I don't know if I can come tomorrow, but I'll be back in the next few days. Will you tell him?"

"Of course. Have a good night, dear."

She emerged from the hospital a few minutes later, surprised by how late it was. The sun had long since set, the streets relatively empty as she hurried toward the Apparition point. Closing her eyes, she turned on her heel, landing in the field beside the Burrow.

Why hadn't she been more careful? After her fight with Ron, she'd promised not to stay out past dinner. It hadn't even taken her a day to break that promise, but being at St. Mungo's made it far too easy to forget the world outside.

She let herself into the house, wondering if she should finally come clean. But then she remembered what Amaryllis had said about Snape's silence.

_"He's still recuperating in other ways. I think the lack of speech is giving him the space he needs to do that."_

The same was true for Hermione herself, albeit in a different way. She didn't want to tell Ron about her visits to St. Mungo's because they were a part of her own healing process, something she simply wasn't ready to share.

* * *

"Where you been?"

To her surprise, Ron didn't seem upset. He followed her into the kitchen, helping himself to a piece of cake before he plopped down at the table.

"I went to a Muggle library to study. Hey, where did all this food come from?"

He grinned, reaching up to wipe a bit of frosting off his chin. "Mum made it."

"Are you serious?"

"Yep. She cooked breakfast and dinner, too. Know what else?"

"What's that?"

"She hasn't been in the twins' room at all today."

"Oh Ron, I'm so happy to hear it. I really was starting to worry."

"Me too." He paused, slicing off another piece of cake. "But I feel like everything's going to be all right now, you know? Even got a letter from George this afternoon."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he said he might come by for dinner next week."

"That's wonderful!"

She grabbed a plate, helping herself to a heap of potatoes. She added several slices of roast beef, devouring a piece of freshly baked bread. She was absolutely famished, which was hardly surprising. Food was another thing she tended to forget while she was at St. Mungo's.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?" 

"Do you think we could hang out tonight?"

He'd never looked so hopeful, his expression filling her with guilt. 

"I'd love to."

* * *

By the time they'd finished the second game of chess, Hermione was exhausted. After her long day at the hospital and the enormous meal she'd eaten, all she wanted was to curl up and go to sleep. She kept these feelings to herself, however, stifling a yawn as Ron put an arm around her shoulders.

"So," he said, looking uncharacteristically shy. "Want to go up to my room?"

She hesitated. "I'm still not ready…"

"I'm not asking you to shag," he said hastily. "Just a bit of snogging, I promise."

She wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow, both their shirts ended up on the floor. After some deliberation, she allowed him to remove her bra as well, flattered by his admiration as he stared at her breasts. He reached out to touch them, clumsy in his eagerness, fumbling fingers followed by his warm, wet mouth.

"Hermione," he said, his voice muffled. "I can't wait until…"

She didn't need him to finish. His desire was obvious, pressed against her leg as he moved up to kiss her neck. The next thing she knew, he'd shifted his hips, bringing them flush against hers.

"Ron…" 

She trailed off, realizing that he wasn't making any attempt to remove his jeans. Instead, he started to move, whispering in her ear as he rubbed himself against her. 

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, just… keep your trousers on, all right?"

"Okay."

It didn't take him long. He rrocked back and forth for a couple more minutes, mumbling a garbled version of her name before his body went limp.

"Bloody hell," he panted as he collapsed on the mattress. "That was amazing."

He didn't bother to ask her whether she'd enjoyed it, too. Yawning, he laid his head on her chest, falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

Perhaps she should've been offended. Instead, she was relieved she'd found a way to satisfy him. True, there'd been nothing in it for her, but at least it hadn't involved doing anything she wasn't ready to do.

"No," he mumbled when she tried to pull away. 

"Ron, I'm tired, too. I can't fall asleep in here."

"Five more minutes."

"All right." She sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillow. "But then I have to go."

* * *

" _Ronald Weasley!_ "

Hermione jerked awake, gasping as she spotted the figure in the doorway. Molly's face was thinner than she remembered, though that did little to distract from her expression. It was caught between shock and outrage, her eyes widening as they dropped to Hermione's chest.

"Oh, no…"

The scene couldn't have been more incriminating. Both she and Ron were topless, clothes scattered across the floor. They were partially covered with a blanket, though in this case, it did more harm than good. It made it appear as if they were fully naked, concealing the fact that they were both wearing jeans.

All the while, Ron slept on, his face pressed against her bare breast.

"This isn't what it looks like." Even as she said it, Hermione felt like an idiot. "We didn't…"

"Get dressed," Molly said tersely. "I want you both downstairs in five minutes."

With that, she left the room, closing the door with a bang.

"Oi!" Ron said as he shot up in bed. "What was that?"

"Your mum."

His eyes widened. "Did she…"

"We've got five minutes to get downstairs."

To Hermione's relief, Molly chose to talk to them separately, lecturing Ron for a good 15 minutes before calling her into the kitchen. He passed her on his way out, his cheeks scarlet.

"Sit down."

Hermione did as she was told, trying not to fidget as Molly fixed her a plate of bacon and eggs. She seemed calmer, pouring them both a cup of tea before she sat down on the other side of the table.

"Both of you are of age now, and you were off on your own for nearly a year. I guess it would be foolish to think you never…"

"We didn't. We still haven't, honestly!"

"Even if that's true…" Molly's expression made it clear that she didn't believe it for a second. "It's only a matter of time. In bed with a boy with your clothes off? Things happen, whether you mean for them to or not."

Hermione blushed, remembering the night she'd just spent with Ron. True, she'd set limits, but she certainly hadn't planned on letting him rub himself off on her. It just _happened_.

That was the problem. It had made sense to go along with what he'd wanted, easier to submit than refuse. That was how he managed to push her a little further each time, creeping ever closer to that inevitable moment when she finally gave in.

"You're right," she told Molly. "I think we need to slow down."

"That's not a bad idea, though it's easier said than done. Once you've crossed that line…"

"We _really_ haven't…" She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry aabout this morning, okay? It won't happen again."

"Are you using contraceptives?"

" _What?_ "

"You know, charms, potions, that sort of thing. I guess there are Muggle methods as well, though I've heard they're less reliable."

"I haven't really thought about it. Ron and I aren't…"

"Well, you need to use _something_ , dear. That is, unless the two of you are planning on getting married in the near future. If that's the case, I certainly wouldn't mind a grandchild. Or a whole slew of them, for that matter."

Hermione hadn't thought the conversation could get any worse. Clearly, she'd been wrong.

"Right, well, I need to get going."

"Not until you've finished your breakfast."

Realizing there was no way around it, she choked down the eggs and bacon she'd been given. Washing it down with a last bit of tea, she rose to her feet, resisting the urge to run out of the room. 

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?" she said, cringing as she glanced back over her shoulder.

"I realize that both of you are adults, but this is still my house. Unless the two of you are married or at least engaged, I'd prefer it if you slept in separate rooms."

"Yeah," she muttered under her breath. "Me too."

* * *

"You wouldn't _believe_ the morning I've had."

Of course, Snape didn't respond, though Hermione welcomed his silence. She dropped in the chair beside him, shaking her head as she reached in her bag.

"I mean, really, it's like the Weasleys don't understand the concept of privacy. Heaven forbid they knock on the door before they enter a room, or you know, _not_ ask a dozen questions every time they see you. They always have to know where you're going, what you're doing, why you're being so quiet, or…"

She glanced over at Snape, expecting him to be annoyed. Instead, he seemed faintly amused by her tirade.

"I like the Weasleys," she continued. "Really, I do. But… did you just _snort?_ "

Snape's expression was carefully blank, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Anyway, they just make me feel crowded, you know? I guess I should be used to it by now, but I'm not. Maybe it's because I was an only child. I never had to deal with anyone expecting me to entertain them all the time, or… am I bothering you?"

He grunted, obviously thrown by the change of subject. Slowly, he turned his head in her direction, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"Would you rather I read?"

He didn't respond, which she couldn't help but find annoying. After all, it wasn't as if he'd been hiding his ability to make noises or subtle gestures. But then it occurred to her that his options for communication were somewhat limited. He might be able to answer yes or no or express displeasure, but as long as he chose not to speak, there was little room for more nuanced responses.

"I have an idea," she said. "Can you move your fingers?"

He rolled his eyes, wriggling each of them in turn.

"Okay, index finger means yes, middle finger means no. Ring finger means you either don't know or don't care. Got it?"

He looked dubious, though it wasn't difficult to understand why. According to Amaryllis, his lack of communication was a defense mechanism, something he was obviously using to shield himself while he recovered.

"I won't tell anyone," she said quietly. "I won't ask you any questions you don't want to answer either. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is invade your privacy…" She trailed off, giving him a mischievous look. "I'm not a Weasley, you know."

Snape made a strange noise, almost as if he'd just swallowed a cough. It took her a minute to realize he was laughing, his chest rising and falling several times in rapid succession.

 _She'd made Professor Snape laugh_. Not in a mocking way… not cruelly or maliciously… she'd honestly made him _laugh_.

"Besides," she said, elated by his reaction. "If I do anything you don't like, you'll just have me tossed out."

He lifted his index finger, responding with a slow, deliberate yes. His lips were still twitching, his body much more relaxed.

"Good, I'm glad we understand each other. Now would you like me to shut up about myself and read for a while?"

He hesitated, then raised his ring finger.

Of course, if he _did_ want to hear more about her life, he'd never admit it. He was far too good at feigning disinterest, an ability he'd relied on during the war. Once, that facade had fooled her as much as anyone else, but she was beginning to recognize the subtleties. 

"You don't care?" she said casually. "Okay then. As I was saying, I've never understood how the Weasleys can live on top of each other the way they do. I was an only child and both my parents worked all the time, so I always had plenty of space."

If she'd seen Snape's expression a couple years ago, she would've assumed he was bored out of his mind. Now she could tell he was listening intently, his brow furrowed.

"Of course," she continued, "that wasn't always a _good_ thing. My childhood was pretty lonely sometimes, especially since I didn't have any friends. Until I met Ron and Harry…"

Just the mention of Harry's name made Snape tense, letting her know she was treading on dangerous ground. Hastily, she backtracked, steering the conversation in a safer direction.

"I did love to read, though. Even when I was really small, I always wanted books instead of toys. I spent most of my time at the Muggle library – that's still my favorite place in the world, even better than…" 

She caught herself, realizing he probably didn't want to hear about Hogwarts. Instead, she listed off a handful of books from her childhood, explaining why they meant so much to her.

"I especially loved anything having to do with science. Biology, chemistry, physics? Those were my favorites. I wish there was more respect for Muggle knowledge in the magical world."

To her surprise, Snape grunted, lifting his index finger in agreement. She desperately wanted to ask him what Muggle subjects he'd studied, but of course, that wasn't the type of question he could answer. Clearly, he was feeling his limitations, too – he opened his mouth and then closed it again, obviously frustrated by his inability to offer an opinion.

"Of course, I always loved Shakespeare, too. Would you like me to read you another play?"

A twitch of a finger and she launched into "A Midsummer Night's Dream". She read it from start to finish, her throat aching by the time she reached the final page. By then, Snape was deeply asleep, his head still turned in her direction.

"Sleep well," she whispered, reaching out to straighten his blanket. "I'll try to be here tomorrow."

* * *

Hermione returned to St. Mungo's the next day, slipping away from the Burrow while the others were playing Quidditch. She headed straight up to Snape's floor, coming face to face with a beaming Amaryllis.

"You truly are a miracle."

"I am? What did I…"

"Here, let me show you."

As usual, Snape's door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light slicing across the hallway. Hermione frowned, shooting a questioning look at the healer.

"What…"

" _Muffliato_ ," Amaryllis whispered. "Look!"

She peered through the crack, her eyes widening as she spotted Snape. He was sitting up in bed, oblivious to her presence as he lifted a spoon to his mouth.

"He isn't lying down," she said, though she felt foolish for stating the obvious. "He's…"

" _Eating!_ " Amaryllis finished for her. "First time he's done it on his own. Before today, I was feeding him nutrient potions, maybe a little broth if I could coax him into taking it. Look at him now! He's had almost an entire sandwich, along with that bowl of fruit he's nearly finished."

"That's wonderful!"

"Yes, and you know what else he did? He used the toilet! A bit shaky on his feet, to be sure, but he's managed it twice now. Told me not to bring him any more bedpans."

"That's…" She hesitated, quite sure Snape wouldn't appreciate the two of them discussing his bathroom habits. "How did he tell you? I mean, how did you know he wanted food?"

Amaryllis chuckled, withdrawing a note from her pocket. She handed it to Hermione, shaking her head as she did so.

"He's very…"

"Particular?" Hermione suggested, reading over the neat lines of script. Snape had detailed exactly what he wanted to eat, followed by a handful of notes on preparation.

"I suppose that's a good word for it. He was a teacher, wasn't he?"

"Potions Master."

Amaryllis nodded. "That seems fitting. I'm sure he had high standards."

"You have no idea."

Hermione made it to the final line of script, the handwriting so small and cramped she could barely read it.

_Please place another stasis charm on my flowers. They're starting to wilt._

"Flowers?"

"Oh," Amaryllis said, plucking the note out of her hand. "I don't think you were supposed to see that."

"The flowers I brought?"

"He hasn't received any others."

"But I… I never saw them after that first day. I just figured he'd had them tossed out."

Amaryllis shook her head. "He has me take them out of there each morning, but he keeps them with him at night."

" _Why?_ "

"I suppose he finds them comforting, even if he'd rather keep that to himself."

 _Comforting_. The word stirred something in Hermione's memory, reminding her of a previous visit. She glanced at the note in Amaryllis's hand, unable to suppress her curiosity.

"The notes… how long has he been able to do that?"

"A couple weeks now. Two, maybe three? I received the first one right after you started showing up."

Hermione nodded. "How do they work? Does he write them himself, or…"

"Oh, no." Amaryllis withdrew a couple items from her pocket, handing one of them to Hermione. It looked exactly like Snape's alert button, an oblong shaped object that fit neatly into her hand.

"How do I…"

"Project your thoughts."

She held down the button, focusing on a simple message. 

_How does this work? Protean Charm?_

"Ah," Amaryllis said, watching the words appear on the slip of parchment she was holding. "There we go. It's similar, yes, though the spell is enhanced for more complex communications. Your message wasn't urgent, so the alert I received was subtle. In the case of an emergency…"

"Yes?" Hermione prompted, fascinated by this new discovery.

"The message would be verbal rather than written."

"Even if the person who sent it can't speak?"

"Our alert system isn't dependent on physical capabilities. Patients have to be able to communicate, especially those who are incapacitated."

"Has _he_ ever…" 

Following the direction of Hermione's eyes, Amaryllis glanced at Snape's doorway. "Not yet. He only communicates in written form."

"Well, at least he's communicating, I guess. Can I ask you something else?"

"I suppose so."

"That chair in his room… how did it get there?"

Amaryllis frowned, momentarily confused. Then she reached in her other pocket, shuffling through numerous slips of parchment. She handed one to Hermione, a tiny scrap that contained a single line of Snape's handwriting.

 _If I'm to have visitors_ , it said, _they'll need somewhere suitable to sit._

She didn't say anything. How could she? Yet another one of her preconceived notions about Snape had been shattered, leaving her utterly at a loss. The chair. The flowers. Laughing at her jokes? She had no idea how to reconcile that with…

"He looks forward to your visits," Amaryllis said, "You've helped him a great deal, even if he's too proud to admit it."

"He still won't talk."

"No, but he's responding in other ways, none of which seemed possible before you came. To tell you the truth, I didn't think he was going to make it. All he did was lie there, not seeming to care whether he lived or died."

"And I'm the one who changed that? I don't see how. He and I were never… well, to tell you the truth, he _hated_ me."

"But you're here," Amaryllis pointed out. "You're here and you care. That can make a huge difference, especially to someone who has no one else."

Hermione nodded, not knowing what else to say. She found it difficult to believe that she'd helped Snape as much as the healer claimed, though at the very least, she knew now that he welcomed her visits. That alone was all the encouragement she needed.

"Can I see him now?"

"Of course! Just don't tell him about…"

"Don't worry," she interrupted. "I won't say a word."

Snape looked up as she entered the room, acknowledging her presence with a slight nod. Comforted by the familiarity, she closed the door behind her, settling herself in the chair beside the bed.

 _The chair he'd requested for her_.

Resisting the urge to smile, she retrieved a handful of books from her bag.

"I see you're sitting up today," she said, doing her best to sound casual. "That's a nice change."

He grunted, reaching for the books she'd placed on the bedside table. Rejecting the first two, he settled on the third, leaning back against the pillows as he flipped open the cover.

"So we're reading to ourselves, then?"

Another grunt.

"I guess so," she muttered, selecting a book for herself.

To her surprise, it wasn't the least bit awkward. On the contrary, she'd never felt more comfortable, soothed by the rustle of turning pages as they read in companionable silence. She lost herself in the material, finishing one book before she started on another.

"Pardon me, dear."

The book fell from her hands, hitting the floor with a smack. She looked up to find Amaryllis standing in the doorway, both of them shifting their attention to Snape. He was still sitting up, though deeply asleep, clinging to the open book that rested against his chest.

"Here, let me get that for you."

"No," she said hastily. "Let him keep it."

"All right, well, it's late. You should probably…"

" _How_ late?"

"A little past two."

"Two?!" her eyes widened. "I thought visiting hours ended at nine!"

"They do," Amaryllis said. "But I had to help out with a situation upstairs. I wasn't able to make it back down here before now."

Hermione grabbed her other books, cursing softly as she shoved them in her bag. She raced down the stairs and through the reception area, panting as she emerged onto the London street. She'd nearly reached the Apparition point when she met Ron's Patronus, his frantic voice demanding to know where she was. Five minutes later, she practically staggered through the Burrow's front door, bracing herself for what was sure to be a nasty argument.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I was reading a really good book and I lost track of time."

"Lost track of _time?_ Do you have any _idea_ how worried I've been?"

"I said I was sorry. It won't happen again."

"Yeah, that's what you said last time. What the hell is going on, Hermione?"

"I told you I was reading."

He shook his head. "Nobody reads that much. Not even you. Are you seeing someone else?"

"Of course not! How could you think that?"

"Why _wouldn't_ I think that?" he shot back. "You keep disappearing, staying out until all hours of the night. You obviously don't want to shag, rarely even want to make out anymore. Ginny told me you've been borrowing her dresses, and…"

"I don't have any clothes, Ron! I lost most of my stuff when we went on the run, remember? I'm sorry if I don't want to keep wearing the same ratty old jeans."

"You don't seem to mind wearing them around me. You only change when you go out."

"That's because I'm out in _public_. It doesn't mean…" She sighed, sinking down onto the couch. "This is a pointless argument, Ron. Really, it is. I'm not cheating on you, okay? Promise."

"Even if that's true, you haven't been the same since…"

"Since when? Before the battle?"

"Yeah."

"Well, of _course_ I haven't been the same! I lost my parents, lost a lot of my friends, had my entire world turned upside down. I'm sorry if I can't just…"

" _And I lost my brother!_ " Ron shouted. "Watched friends die just like you did! I'm still _here_ , Hermione. I'm not shutting you out, giving you the cold shoulder and disappearing all the time. It's not _fair!_ "

"Fair? This isn't about being fair. We just have different ways of coping, that's all."

"We should be coping with it together. Isn't that what couples do?"

 _Together?_ She hadn't left the Burrow for nearly a month after the battle. She'd been there to listen whenever he'd needed to talk, sometimes for hours on end. Granted, she'd been less than enthusiastic about their physical relationship, but she couldn't help that. She wasn't going to force herself to do anything she wasn't ready to do.

"What do you want, Ron? What do you want that I'm not doing?"

He sat down on the couch beside her, letting out a heavy sigh. "Nothing, I guess. I just… I want to know where you've been going, that's all. It wouldn't bother me so much if I didn't feel like you were hiding something."

"You really want to know?"

"Please."

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "I've been going to see Professor Snape. I was at St. Mungo's several times last week, once or twice the week before, and that's where I was tonight. We've been reading together."

Ron burst out laughing.

"What? I'm serious."

He only laughed harder, his face turning an unflattering shade of red.   
"You mean to tell me… you've been hanging around with _Snape?_ That's the worst excuse I've ever heard!"

"You know what? Nevermind."

"Come on, don't be mad. You've got to admit, it _is_ pretty funny."

"How so?"

"Hermione, we're talking about _Snape_. He wouldn't let you come see him even if you _wanted_ to. Can't imagine why you would, really."

"He nearly died fighting for our side. Have you forgotten that?"

Ron shrugged. "He's still a nasty old git who hates us. Doubt that's changed, no matter what he did in the war."

"He _really_ isn't…" She trailed off, realizing that she didn't really want Ron to know the truth. She'd given him a chance to act mature, to give both her and Snape the benefit of the doubt. He'd failed on both counts. Why should she fight to make him believe her, when obviously, he'd rather treat it as a joke than even attempt to take her seriously?

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?

"Are you _sure_ you're not seeing someone else? You could tell me, you know. Not saying I wouldn't be mad, but…"

"I'm not cheating on you, Ron. Please don't make me say it again."

"Then why can't you tell me where you were?"

"I _tried_ to tell you. You didn't believe me."

"So," he said, flinging an arm over the back of the couch. "You really _were_ off reading?"

"Yes."

"Why can't you do that here?"

"Because…" What could she tell him? That the house made her feel claustrophobic? That she hated being interrupted every five minutes? Or maybe she could tell him how much she loved reading with Snape, the one person who seemed to enjoy the written word as much as she did?

In the end, she told him none of these things, knowing that he wouldn't understand.

"I just need a little time to myself, Ron. That's all."

"Okay." He let out a defeated sigh, making it clear that the fight was over. "Just… try not to stay out so late, yeah? I really _was_ worried."

"I know. It won't happen again."

* * *

Hermione sent a message to St. Mungo's, letting Snape know she wouldn't be able to come for the rest of the week. She did her best to smooth things over with Ron, spending as much time with him as possible as she focused on life at the Burrow. 

By the fifth day, she couldn't take it anymore. The minutes seemed to drag by like hours, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Snape. What was he doing right then? Sleeping? Eating? Wondering why she wasn't there even as he pretended that it didn't matter?

She waited until the others went outside to play Quidditch, grabbing her bag on her way out the door. Apparating straight to St. Mungo's, she practically ran upstairs, eager with anticipation as she opened the door to Snape's room.

"Sorry I couldn't come sooner. I…" 

The bed was occupied, though not by Snape. In his place was an elderly witch, who'd obviously been startled by her abrupt entrance. Hastily, she backed out of the room, mumbling her apologies.

"Ah, there you are."

She turned around to see Amaryllis hurrying toward her, carrying the book she'd left behind on her last visit.

"Where is he? He didn't…"

"Oh, no, he's fine! We released him yesterday morning."

Frowning, she accepted the book, tucking it in her bag. "Did he leave a message? Any contact information?"

"I'm sorry, dear. I'm afraid he didn't."


	4. Broken

##  **Chapter 4: Broken**

* * *

_SEVERUS SNAPE, FORMER HEADMASTER AT HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, ACQUITTED OF ALL CHARGES_

Hermione glared at the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet_ , tempted to set it on fire. Of course, she was glad Snape's name had been cleared, but the way they'd _written_ about him…

_As a boy, Severus Snape knew nothing but loneliness and deprivation, isolated from his peers by his peculiar behavior. This led to him forming an obsessive attachment to Lily Evans, a beautiful young witch who happened to live nearby. Unfortunately for Snape, Evans never reciprocated his feelings, cutting off all contact on the day they arrived at Hogwarts. From that moment on, she had eyes for no one but James Potter, Quidditch star and fallen hero._

_Rejecting Snape's persistent and ultimately futile efforts to win her over, Evans would eventually marry Potter, giving birth to a son. That son, of course, was Harry James Potter, nemesis of Lord Voldemort and future savior of the Wizarding world._

"I can't believe they wrote that." Harry scowled, munching furiously on a piece of toast. "I _never_ said…"

"What _did_ you say? Could it have been misinterpreted?"

"No!"

"Which reporter did you talk to?"

"I didn't talk to any reporters! I only told Kingsley. He said it was strictly confidential, but how else…"

"Harry," she interrupted. "Did you see this?"

"What?"

She shook her head, pointing to the tiny line of script beneath the article.

_Written by Rita Skeeter, author of "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore". Excerpt taken from her upcoming publication, "Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?"_

"Bloody hell. I should've known."

"Do you think he's seen it?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. I mean, no one even knows where he is."

"Maybe he's out of the country," she said, trying to be optimistic. "After everything he went through, I'm sure he needed a little time away. He could've gone to France or Spain or Switzerland, someplace where he won't even see it."

"Yeah, but if she's got a book coming out…"

Ron and Ginny entered the kitchen, effectively putting an end to their conversation. They started chatting about Quidditch team rankings instead, not seeming to notice as Hermione ducked out of the room. She headed upstairs, summoning a pair of scissors as she sat down on Ginny's bed. Carefully, she cut out the headline along with Snape's picture, tossing the rest of the paper in the trash bin.

_SEVERUS SNAPE ACQUITTED OF ALL CHARGES_

Humiliation aside, how would he feel when he received the news? What would he choose to do now that all possibilities were open to him? Would he finally find a way to be happy? 

She stared at his photo, recognizing it as the same one the _Daily Prophet_ had used to announce his takeover as headmaster. Had that only been a year ago? It seemed like a lifetime, his grim expression filling her with dread as the trio cowered at Grimmauld Place. She'd seen nothing but cruelty in the harsh lines of his profile, his eyes so cold they'd made her shiver.

Now? All she saw was suffering. It was there in the dark circles under his eyes, obvious in the unhealthy pallor of his skin. For the first time, she realized he'd lost a great deal of weight after Dumbledore's death, his face so gaunt it looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. How had she missed all that? Why hadn't she seen…

"Hermione?"

Hastily, she stuffed the photo in her beaded bag, forcing herself to smile as Ginny entered the room. "Yeah?"

"We're headed down to Diagon Alley. Wanna come?"

"Oh, no thanks. I think I'll stay here and do some reading."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're _always_ reading. Why don't you come out and socialize for once?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again, biting back a sharp retort. It felt like she did nothing _but_ socialize these days, lucky if she could steal even a few minutes for herself. Life at the Burrow was gradually getting back to normal, heavy silence replaced by constant noise and activity. George often stayed over, while Percy, Bill, and Fleur had begun making daily appearances. She'd never felt more crowded, not helped by Ron's constant need for attention.

"Next time," she told Ginny. "Promise."

Soon enough, the house was relatively quiet. She stretched out on the bed, sighing in relief as she retrieved Snape's picture from her bag.

Strange, perhaps, but she really did miss him. She hadn't seen him in nearly two months, deprived of the visits she'd somehow come to rely on. Her time at St. Mungo's had given her a sense of purpose – now there was nothing to do but sit around the Burrow, each day more monotonous than the last.

What was she supposed to do with herself? For the first time in her life, she didn't have a single goal she was trying to achieve. She wished she could relax and have fun like Harry and Ron, but she couldn't ignore the sense of urgency within her. That feeling had plagued her for as long as she could remember, an intense, almost overwhelming need to accomplish…

To accomplish _what?_ She didn't even know anymore. All she knew was that she had to do _something_ productive. Otherwise, she'd go mad.

"Any ideas?" she asked Snape's picture. He stared back at her, grim faced and stoic, as stiff as a Muggle photograph. The only movement she could detect was a slight flaring of his nostrils, a clear sign that he'd hated having his picture taken.

She didn't mind his stillness, nor the lack of response. Both of those things had become intimately familiar during her time at St. Mungo's, Snape lying quietly beside her as she'd talked for hours on end. She'd found clarity in that silence, feeling more like herself than she had since the end of the war.

Suddenly, she knew what she needed to do. Insane? Perhaps, though it was the only thing that made sense at this particular moment. She set the picture on the bedside table, taking a deep breath before she started to talk.

"I don't know what to do with myself. I really don't. Guess I could get a job, but…"

Gradually, her confusion faded, replaced by a newfound sense of certainty. An hour later, she tucked the picture back in her bag, dashing off a quick letter before she headed downstairs.

* * *

"You're what?" Ron stared at her, aghast.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts."

" _Why?_ "

"Because I'd like to continue my studies. Really, Ron, you don't have to look so surprised."

"Surprised? _Of course_ I'm surprised! We've been out of school for more than a year!"

She shrugged. "Professor McGonagall doesn't think I'll have any trouble picking up where I left off."

"Trouble?" Ron shook his head. "Hermione, I'm sure you already know whatever it is they teach in seventh year. What's the point in going back?"

"Well, I'll have a harder time getting into university if I don't finish at Hogwarts. Besides, I wouldn't mind a refresher."

"University?"

"I'm not sure about that yet," she said, "but I'd like to have the option."

"What about…" Run hesitated, staring down at his hands. "What about us? Are you breaking up with me?"

"What? No!"

"But you're going back to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean our relationship has to end. We'll just be apart for a little while."

"Nine months," he said, sounding sullen.

"I'll be back for breaks. Really, it won't be so bad."

To her surprise, he didn't protest any further. He did give her the cold shoulder for the next few days, but by the end of August, he seemed resigned to the idea. He even went with her to Kings Cross station, his expression wistful as he told her goodbye.

"You'll write? Promise you'll write."

"I will."

"And no snogging other blokes."

She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, I have no interest in boys. I just want to focus on my studies."

"Okay," he said, sounding a bit more cheerful. "See you at Christmas, then?"

"Of course."

She kissed him goodbye, glad he'd accepted her decision. Time apart was exactly what they needed, a chance to reconcile with the past before they turned their eyes to the future.

"Ready?"

She nodded at Ginny, her stomach fluttering as they boarded the Hogwarts Express. It looked exactly the same, even _smelled_ the same, reminding her of…

"Where is everyone?"

The words had already left Ginny's mouth before she grasped the implications. Hermione watched her turn pale, both of them shaking their heads as they walked past row after row of empty compartments.

No, it _wasn't_ the same. Less than half the students would be returning this year, a stark reminder of how many lives had been lost. Even some of the survivors had chosen to stay away, too scarred to even consider another year at Hogwarts. Their vacant seats were haunting, something Hermione desperately tried to ignore as she and Ginny settled into their seats.

"If everyone else gets to stay home," Ginny said, "I don't see why I can't."

"Don't you want to finish your schooling?"

Ginny shrugged. "I've already learned all the important things. Besides, it's not like I'm going to need it. All I want to do is shag Harry and play Quidditch."

"I know, but…" Hermione hesitated, caught off guard by her frankness. "You're not planning on doing that for the rest of your life, are you?"

"Why not? I can get recruited for a team next year, play a few seasons before I'm ready to retire. Then Harry and I will get married, maybe have a couple kids. I don't need any NEWT level classes for that, do I?"

Hermione shook her head, unable to fathom that level of certainty. At 17, Ginny knew exactly what she wanted, as if her entire life had been planned out since birth. How was it possible to be that confident? When Hermione looked into her own future, she saw a dozen paths she might take, each one more hazy than the last.

"What about you and Ron?"

"I… I honestly don't know. Guess we'll figure it out when the school year's over."

To her relief, Ginny didn't question her further. She dug a book out of her bag, pretending to read for the rest of the journey.

* * *

"Ah, we're here!"

She followed Ginny off the train, waiting quietly with the other students for the carriages to arrive. Of course, she had no trouble seeing the Thestrals – they all did, with the exception of a few younger students who'd been spared the carnage of battle. 

In that moment, she couldn't help wondering if she'd made a mistake. She'd always loved Hogwarts, but now it seemed foreign, sinister, looming out of the darkness like a monstrous beast. Some of the happiest moments of her life had happened there, yet all she could remember was that final, terrible night, bodies strewn across the grounds like so many fallen leaves.

She averted her eyes, spotting the Shrieking Shack in the distance. Just the sight of it made her feel ill, haunted by the memory of Snape's blood, his scream, the anguish on his face when he'd…

"All right, Hermione?

Somehow, she forced herself to smile. "I'm fine."

"Bit weird, isn't it? Being back here?"

"Yeah, it is."

Indeed, it was strange, yet there was no turning back. Where would she go if she didn't stay here? Back to the Burrow? The thought made her cringe, stiffening her resolve as the castle drew near. Whatever happened, she was determined to make the most of her final year at Hogwarts, hoping it would give her the perspective she needed to move on with her life.

She exited the carriage, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the Entrance Hall. Despite herself, she couldn't help thinking about Snape, wondering what life at Hogwarts would be like without him. He'd always been a fixture here, his scowling face as predictable as the Sorting Ceremony.

"Hermione Granger!"

Professor McGonagall looked as if she'd aged five years, though she seemed to be doing reasonably well. She smiled as she approached, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

"Hello, Professor… erm, Headmistress."

"Go ahead and call me Professor. I've been using it so long that I don't know how to answer to anything else."

"Okay." Hermione hesitated, glancing at the door to the Great Hall. "Would you mind if I skipped the feast? I'm feeling a bit…"

"Yes, I'm sure you need a little time to adjust. Go on upstairs – I'll see that your absence is excused."

"Thank you. May I have the password?"

"Oh, you won't be staying in Gryffindor tower. I've arranged for you to have a private room."

"Thanks, but I don't need special privileges. I really don't mind…"

"This isn't a privilege," Professor McGonagall interrupted. "Merely a courtesy. You mentioned in your letter that you'd like to focus on your studies with as few distractions as possible. Naturally, it'll be easier to do that if you have a bit more privacy."

"I didn't mean…" She trailed off, not knowing how to refuse without seeming ungrateful. Besides, she certainly wouldn't mind having a room to herself.

"Ah, I need to get in there for the Sorting Ceremony. You'll find your room in the guest wing on the third floor. Last door on the right."

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath as she headed upstairs. It took her ages to find the room, tucked away in a little used corridor she'd never noticed before. She reached for the doorknob, gasping as it snapped at her with a set of brass teeth.

"How am I supposed to get in?"

"Answer the riddle," the doorknob replied.

She frowned, leaning down to study it more closely. It had taken the shape of a mouth, lips twitching impatiently.

"Okay, what's the riddle?"

" _The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?_ "

"Footsteps."

The door swung open, revealing a small yet comfortable looking room. In the center stood a four poster bed, though it wasn't draped in the House colors she'd come to expect. Instead, the canopy was patterned in neutral shades, soft creams mingling with deep, rich browns.

"Well?" she asked Crookshanks as she released him from his basket. "What do you think?"

He yawned, stretching luxuriously before he hopped up on the bed.

It didn't take her long to unpack. She enlarged her trunk and set it against the wall, hanging her spare school robes in the tiny closet. Retrieving her textbooks and other supplies, she arranged them neatly on the desk, hanging her bag on the back of the chair.

"There," she said. "That's better."

A room to herself? This was one change she could _definitely_ get used to. She'd spent the better part of a year sharing a tent with two boys, followed by an entire summer sleeping in Ginny's room. Her newfound privacy felt wonderful, something she chose to celebrate by stripping down to her knickers before she crawled into bed. 

" _Lumos_."

Summoning a pile of books, she smiled as she settled herself against the pillows. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there was no one around to criticize her for reading too much.

* * *

"Oh, no."

Hermione sprang out of bed, cursing under her breath as she summoned her clothes. How had she managed to oversleep? She'd always been so punctual, not satisfied unless she was the first to arrive for her classes.

Of course, that was before she'd spent nearly a year on the run, sleeping in shifts rather than maintaining a normal schedule. It was also before her summer at the Burrow, staying in bed until noon simply because there was nothing better to do.

She shoved her books in her bag, briefly attempting to straighten her hair before she abandoned it as a lost cause. Two more minutes and she was out the door, nearly tripping on her robes as she raced through the halls.

If not for the staircase, she would've made it. Unfortunately, it refused to cooperate, making several false starts before it slid into place. By then, she was 10 minutes late, sighing in frustration as she opened the door to the Potions classroom.

Would Professor Slughorn punish her? Probably not. He'd always treated tardiness as a minor issue, especially with students he favored. One third of the Golden Trio? Honestly, she'd be shocked if he even bothered to take a few House Points.

"Sorry, Professor Slug…" She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. "Professor _Snape?!_ "

If he was similarly surprised, he didn't show it. He barely looked at her, jerking his head at an empty seat before he flicked his wand at the blackboard. With that, he swept out of the room, leaving the students to whisper among themselves.

"What's going on?" she hissed at Ginny. "Why is he here?"

"I don't know. Guess he needed the job?"

Surely that couldn't be it. He'd worked at Hogwarts for nearly two decades, earning what must've been a decent salary. What would he have spent it on? He was a single man with no one to provide for other than himself. Obviously, he wasn't materialistic either, so he'd probably accumulated a considerable amount of savings over the years.

But if he didn't need the money, then why was he here? As far as she knew, he'd only agreed to teach as part of his cover, working behind the scenes to protect Harry and defeat Voldemort. Clearly, that was no longer a factor, so why…

She shook her head, slicing off a bit of arrowroot and dropping it in the cauldron. Glancing up at the blackboard, she did her best to focus on Snape's instructions, relieved when her potion turned a perfect shade of crystal blue.

Snape finally returned, placing a basket on the desk before he settled himself in his chair. He never said a word, stonefaced and silent as the students turned in their potions. Ginny's had clearly been botched, though he didn't seem to notice. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the wall as they exited the classroom.

"That was weird," Ginny said, waiting for Hermione to catch up before they headed upstairs.

"I know."

"Honestly though, it's an improvement."

"An _improvement?_ " Hermione stopped in her tracks. "How can you say that?"

"Oh, come on. He didn't take any House Points, did he? No nasty remarks, even left us alone for most of class. He isn't…"

"He isn't himself."

Ginny smiled. "Exactly."

Hermione shook her head, realizing there was no point in responding. Ginny wouldn't understand, nor was she likely to care that Snape might be having a difficult time. All she saw was the effect his behavior had on her, choosing not to question that behavior as long as she benefited from it.

"What's your next class?"

"Arithmancy."

"Right, well, I've got Divination. See you at lunch?"

She nodded, waiting for Ginny to leave before she let out a heavy sigh. She couldn't stop thinking about Snape's apathetic expression, his eyes cold and lifeless as he'd stared past her. What had happened since the last time she'd seen him? He hadn't been like that at St. Mungo's. True, he'd chosen not to speak, but he'd shown a full range of emotions. Now he seemed utterly detached, reminding her of…

"Oh."

Suddenly, she knew where she'd seen that expression. He'd been lying in the Hospital Wing, staring blankly at the ceiling as the healers had arrived to transport him to St. Mungo's. That had been just a couple days after the battle… the last time she'd seen him at Hogwarts.

Had returning here traumatized him that deeply? If so, why on earth had he chosen to _stay?_

* * *

Severus shut the door to his private quarters, summoning a bottle of Firewhiskey. Conjuring a glass, he filled it to the brim, dropping into a battered old armchair.

Minerva had offered to replace his furniture. She'd promised him any number of perks if he agreed to return. He'd refused them all, wishing he had the strength to turn down his former position as well.

" _Please, Severus. I know I have no right to ask, but Horace has gone into retirement again and I can't find anyone suitable to take the job._ "

Why hadn't he said no? He could've stayed at Spinner's End, separating himself from the magical world and all its complications. He wouldn't have had to deal with lingering suspicions or pitying looks, forced to reconcile with a past he still wasn't ready to face.

Then again, there was no hiding from that past. He'd learned that on the day he'd left St. Mungo's, haunted by his own solitude throughout the weeks that followed. He'd shut himself up at Spinner's End, heavy silence pressing in on him from all sides until it felt like he couldn't breathe. Even sleep had given him little respite, punctuated by hideous nightmares that left him gasping for air.

He'd tried to treat himself with potions, finding some relief in Dreamless Sleep. Unfortunately, the effects had grown weaker over time, an inevitable consequence of constant use. By that point, he'd had no other option but alcohol. True, it hadn't helped with the nightmares, but it did take the edge off, numbing his senses to the point where he could function.

Of course, that only created another dilemma. What did it even mean to be functional now that the war was over? He'd tried to keep himself busy with books and brewing, but those were only temporary distractions. No matter what he did, it all seemed pointless somehow. He could never escape the feelings of hollowness and futility that had been with him since the battle.

Well no, that wasn't exactly true, was it? He _had_ found relief, brief, precious moments when he'd felt more like himself. The source of that relief had been as unnerving as it was unexpected… by all rights, Hermione Granger should've been the bane of his existence.

Severus lifted the glass to his lips, realizing that it was empty. He filled it a second time, pausing for a long swallow before he returned to his musings.

Indeed, he should've despised her. He'd certainly hated her during those first, excruciating days, wishing she'd left him to die like he'd told her to do. But then the pain had dissipated, giving way to mind numbing boredom. By that point, he'd been so desperate for a distraction that the rest of it hadn't mattered. He'd accepted her first visit, unable to think of a reason to send her away.

Of course, it hadn't taken her long to give him one. She'd babbled about Potter and the war, subjects he wasn't ready to discuss. Then he _had_ made her leave, figuring that would be the end of it. He'd never expected her to come back, unprepared for the relief he'd felt when she'd returned the following day.

After that, he'd been eager to receive her visits. Pathetic, yes, but he couldn't deny it. He kept telling himself that it was only the distraction he craved, but deep down, he'd known it was more than that. She came to represent a feeling, a reminder, some faint recollection of who he'd once been, filled with urgency and purpose. 

That, he supposed, was why he'd agreed to return to Hogwarts. He'd wanted to focus on something other than himself, desperate to feel useful again. Of course, he'd known it wouldn't be easy, but he'd needed to find _something_ to live for. Without that, he was utterly at a loss.

" _Accio_ box."

A small, ornate object flew off the bookcase, landing in his palm. He hadn't opened it since right before the battle, that terrible night when he'd needed all the strength he could muster. It wasn't much, just a torn photograph and a scrap of parchment. Still, they'd bolstered his courage, stiffening his resolve as he'd faced what he'd expected to be the final hours of his life.

He opened the box, staring down at Lily's laughing face as he poured himself another drink. Taking a long swallow, he braced himself for his usual reaction.

It didn't come.

Where was the remorse, the self-hatred, his insatiable craving for absolution? Those feelings were gone now, replaced by a twinge of regret. Even his love for her felt different, soft and bittersweet rather than sharply painful.

Of course, it didn't take him long to figure out why. He'd fulfilled his promise, ridding the world of Voldemort while doing everything in his power to save her son. There was nothing left for him to do now, no debt he still owed her, no part of their past that had been left unresolved. All that existed now were things that _couldn't_ be changed, realities he had no choice but to accept. 

He sat there bewildered, no longer haunted by something that had once caused him so much pain. Perhaps it should've been comforting, but that pain had also given him purpose, his driving force for what seemed like a lifetime. What did he had to live for if not Lily? What the hell was he supposed to do with himself? 

As much as he'd hoped otherwise, Hogwarts offered no solution to that problem. There were no glaring threats on the horizon, no goal he was trying to achieve, not a single person in need of protection. All he saw before him was countless days of teaching, followed by endless nights alone in his quarters.

Was this all there was, then? Nothing to fear, yes, but nothing to look forward to either. There was no one left who needed him, no one who cared whether he lived or…

Well, perhaps there was _one_ person, but what difference did that make? Whatever Hermione had done, she'd done out of a sense of obligation. Now that he was healed, at least in a physical sense, he had no right to expect anything from her. 

Still, he couldn't deny what he'd felt when he'd seen her, emptiness replaced by a flash of relief when she'd walked in his classroom. Unfortunately, that feeling had faded, chased away by the reminder that she wasn't there for him. She'd only come back to finish her schooling, preparing for a future that was far more promising than his own.

That future had nothing to do with him. Indeed, it was unlikely that he'd even be around to witness it. He'd still be here at Hogwarts, no doubt, forced to accept the fact that he had nowhere else to go.


	5. Stirring

##  **Chapter 5: Stirring**

* * *

"Got another letter from Harry," Ginny said. "He's been down at Diagon Alley with Ron all week."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they're helping George reopen the store."

Hermione nodded, her attention focused on the Head Table as a platter of food appeared in front of Snape. He only took a couple mouthfuls, Vanishing the rest with a flick of his wand.

"He's doing a lot better, you know."

"What?"

"George. He's doing better."

"Oh, right."

Of course, Ginny hadn't been talking about Snape. His skin was even more sallow than usual, eyes underscored by dark circles that looked like bruises. He'd lost quite a bit of weight, too, voluminous robes seeming to swallow his thin body as he rose and left the hall.

"Hermione?" Ginny sounded mildly annoyed, waving a hand in front of her face to get her attention.

"What? I'm sorry."

"I asked if you'd gotten any letters from Ron."

"Oh. Yeah, I believe so."

"You mean you haven't read them? I can't even wait five minutes to read mine."

"I'll catch up over the weekend," she responded as she got to her feet. "For now, I need to get to work on that Transfiguration essay."

She didn't go straight to the library. Instead, she wandered through the halls, her thoughts drifting back to Snape. What had happened since she'd seen him last summer? Was there anything she could do to help?

She'd asked herself that question countless times over the past few weeks, though she couldn't come up with any ideas. How was she supposed to help him when he went out of his way to avoid people, only appearing at meals and at the beginning and end of class? He never prowled the halls, deducting House Points or assigning detentions as he'd done in the past. He'd even skipped the first Quidditch game of the season, not seeming to care that Slytherin was playing Gryffindor.

Why had he returned to Hogwarts if he didn't want to be here? Maybe like her, he'd needed something productive to do? That would make sense, but the problem was, he didn't seem to be _doing_ anything at all. He hadn't given a single lecture since term had started, his lessons copied straight from the textbook. No originality, no attempts to challenge…

She lost her train of thought, eyes widening as she spotted a familiar figure at the other end of the hall.

"Professor Snape?"

He stopped in his tracks, turning around to face her.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

Of course, she knew he could speak now, but this was the first time she'd heard his voice since his return. He sounded… different, though it took her a minute to figure out why.

"I was just wondering…"

"What is it?"

Suddenly, she realized what it was. There was no bite to his words, no sharp edge of hostility when he spoke. He'd _never_ addressed her this way, without even a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Sir…" She hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Are you okay?"

He flinched, his mouth compressing into a tight line.

"That's hardly an appropriate question, Miss Granger. If you wish to inquire about your essay…"

"I watched you in the Hall this evening, and at breakfast, too. You barely touched your food."

"Scrutinizing my dietary habits?" He raised an eyebrow. "Surely you have better things to do."

"No," she said frankly. "I don't."

"Well, your failure to find a suitable hobby isn't my problem. I'd suggest…"

"Sorry," she interrupted, "but I can't help noticing what's going on around me. I _know_ you haven't been eating. By the looks of it, you haven't been sleeping either. The way you've been acting…"

"And how, precisely, am I supposed to act? What is it about my behavior that you find so objectionable?"

"I only meant…" She took a step closer without realizing she'd done so, her eyes widening. "You've been drinking."

"Pardon?"

"Firewhiskey," she said. "I can smell it."

For the first time, she saw a spark in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he glared down at her. "I am 38 years old, Miss Granger," he said, sounding uncannily like his former self. "It is both intrusive and _entirely_ inappropriate for you to…"

He trailed off, both of them spotting the small group of students who'd just entered the hallway.

"I'm sorry," she said under her breath. "I just…"

"20 points from Gryffindor."

" _What?!_ "

"20 points," he repeated, "for your impertinence."

Without another word, he turned away, black robes billowing behind him as he strode down the hall.

* * *

Severus was no stranger to unjust punishments. He _was_ unaccustomed to feeling guilty about them, however, berating himself as he headed toward the dungeon. What had he deducted points for, exactly? The fact that she'd picked up on the obvious? Or was it the implication that she gave a damn?

No. He'd punished her because he hadn't known how to respond to either of those things, blindsided by three simple words.

" _Are you okay?_ "

Dumbledore had asked him that question, but only to ensure he was up to the task at hand. Inquiring after his well-being without any agenda, just to make sure he was all right? He couldn't remember the last time anyone had done such a thing.

Of course, he _wasn't_ all right. She'd had no trouble picking up on that, even before she'd smelled the alcohol. She'd been observing him for days, it seemed, perhaps even weeks.

Why?

That was the bigger question, one that left him confounded. Why did she _care?_

Her decision to save his life? That made sense. She wasn't the type of person who could've just left him there to die, whether she'd despised him or not. As for St. Mungo's, he'd assumed it was guilt or feelings of obligation that motivated her visits. Well, that and her need to escape the Weasley clan, which he could certainly understand.

But what about now? He wasn't ill or incapacitated, nor was he on the brink of death. Why did she _still_ feel the need to check up on him?

Severus shut the door to his office, hardly aware of what he was doing as he poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey. He scowled as he lifted it to his lips, setting it back on the desk. All else aside, he needed to cut back on the drinking, appalled that someone had picked up on his newly acquired habit. An occasional nightcap was one thing, but getting pissed before dinner? That was rather excessive.

Summoning a pot of tea instead, he graded a handful of essays before he retired to his quarters. By then, he was fully sober, already dreading the night to come. He'd barely slept since he'd returned to Hogwarts, even with plenty of alcohol in his system. Without it…

He sighed, changing into a loose sleeping robe before he stretched out on the bed. At least he had something to distract him tonight, staring up at the canopy as he dwelled on his conversation with Hermione.

" _Sir, are you okay?_ "

Whatever her reasons, she hadn't been faking it. He'd heard genuine concern in her voice, along with a fair amount of sympathy. Of course, he'd detected wariness, too, a clear sign that she'd anticipated a negative reaction.

She'd expected him to lash out at her, yet she'd still chosen to question him. _Why?_

Closing his eyes, Severus forced himself to reflect on the past few months. Yes, it made sense that she'd saved his life… but how had she known he was alive in the first place? That wouldn't have been possible unless she'd returned after the battle, expecting to find a corpse.

Why had she come back? There could only be one reason. She'd wanted to make sure he received a proper burial, affording him some small measure of dignity.

That one simple act had shifted his perspective, making it impossible to hate her. It wasn't the fact that she'd saved his life, but that even in death, she'd tried to show him respect. It was the last thing he would've expected, certainly far more than he'd deserved.

Of course, that was true for her visits to St. Mungo's, too. He didn't know why she'd treated him with so much compassion, but even now, it left him feeling humbled.

" _I thought it might be better if I read to you. Would you like that?_ "

She had no _idea_ how much he'd liked it. He'd lost himself in the sound of her voice, wondering how he could've ever thought of it as shrill and demanding. Soft and pleasant, oddly sweet… he'd been content to listen to her for hours, the one thing that had given him some measure of peace since the end of the war.

Severus yawned, attempting to recapture that feeling as he turned on his side. From the day he'd left St. Mungo's, it had eluded him, but tonight was different. It was almost as if…

* * *

_"Mr. Snape? Your visitor's here."_

_Severus lay still and silent, his stomach fluttering as she walked in the room. What a stupid reaction. Downright absurd, really. Why should he care that she'd chosen to come back? Was he really that desperate for company?_

_Yes, he was. He couldn't deny it, eager with anticipation as he watched her set down her bag. She pulled out several books and set them on the table, flashing him a smile that made him catch his breath._

_When had she become so…_

_Beautiful? No, he couldn't allow himself to think of her that way. Still, he had to admit that there was something appealing about her soft brown curls, framing a face that had matured tremendously over the past couple years._

_"More Shakespeare?"_

_He grunted in response._

_"Okay."_

_Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the melodic prose. Her pronunciation was flawless, her voice never faltering as she read the first act. She was…_

_She was_ touching _him._

_He lay there stunned as a warm hand parted his robes, caressing his chest before it slid across his stomach. Holding his breath, he felt her move lower, wrapping her fingers around his…_

_What the bloody hell was she_ thinking? _Didn't she realize how inappropriate…_

_He opened his mouth to speak, though all that emerged was a gasp. Meanwhile, his hips began to move, arching upward, seeking her touch._

_"What…" he finally managed, each word catching on a pant. "What… are… you… doing?"_

_Oddly enough, she didn't seem to hear him, still reading in that calm, collected voice as she continued to stroke him. Her hand…_

Severus jerked awake, his eyes widening as he looked down at himself. It was his own hand that had slipped inside his robes, gripping a part of him that hadn't been responsive since long before the battle. 

How was this possible? He hadn't gotten hard since…

Oh, who the bloody hell cared? He was _certainly_ hard now, desperate to take the act to its inevitable conclusion. Closing his eyes, he picked up the momentum, stroking himself faster until finally, _finally_ …

He could've wept with relief, shuddering in the darkness as he pictured her face. For the moment, he couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty about it, his body utterly relaxed as he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Severus wished he could hide under the covers for at least a week. Instead, he heaved himself out of bed, summoning his teaching robes as he headed for the shower.

Of course, he wasn't unhappy to discover that he could still function. But the way it had _happened_ …

It didn't help that he'd awoken in a similar state, his thoughts still focused on Hermione. This time, he refused to act on them, gasping as he stepped beneath a stream of icy cold water. He scrubbed himself from head to toe, shaking his head as he did so.

To think that he'd fantasized about one of his _students_ … that was something he'd _never_ done, not even when he'd hardly been older than they were. Granted, he'd been too grief stricken to have much of a libido back then, but _still_ …

Still, he shouldn't be having those kind of thoughts about Hermione. No doubt she'd be horrified if she knew about the dream he'd had, repulsed by the thought of putting her hands on a nasty old git like him.

And what about _him?_ Could he honestly say he'd ever want to…

No. No, of course not. What happened last night had only been a dream, one that bore no reflection on his current reality.

* * *

Snape sat stiffly at the Head Table, his expression stoic. He never even glanced at Hermione, appearing every bit as disinterested as he had for the past few weeks.

Still, there was something different about him. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, resisting the urge to smile.

He was _eating_.

She saw him polish off a couple pieces of toast, followed by a handful of sausages. He helped himself to a bit of fruit, rounding off his breakfast with a bowl of fried potatoes.

Had he gotten his appetite back? Or was he just trying to avoid her scrutiny? Either way, she was pleased to see him taking better care of himself. He even looked like he'd gotten a decent amount of sleep, the circles under his eyes slightly less pronounced.

She finished her own breakfast, wondering what else she could do to help. What would it take to break through his apathy, sparking his interest in what was going on around him?

"Ready?" Ginny said.

She nodded, still watching Snape as he rose and left the hall. He didn't speak to anyone on his way out, though of course, no one spoke to him either. It had been that way since the start of term, both students and teachers choosing to keep their distance.

That was the problem, she realized. No one ever attempted to engage him, whether that was asking questions during class or chatting with him at meals. Really, was it any wonder that he seemed disinterested? It wasn't as if anyone had taken an interest in him.

_"Sir, are you okay?"_

He'd been shocked when she'd asked him that question. Not annoyed or offended, but genuinely _shocked_. He'd done his best to hide it, responding with his usual sarcasm, but she'd seen… well, she didn't know what it was, but it certainly wasn't apathy.

Was that all he needed? Human interaction, someone who cared about his well-being? That would explain why he'd been so responsive at the hospital, surprisingly tolerant of her company.

No, it wasn't just tolerance. He'd _enjoyed_ her visits. It didn't matter whether she'd been reading, chattering about her childhood, or telling him about her future ambitions… he'd seemed to welcome the attention. Granted, he'd been a bit more standoffish last night, but actions spoke louder than words. Her attempt to engage him had made a difference, leading to the first positive change she'd seen since he'd returned to Hogwarts.

She made her way to the dungeons, feeling optimistic as she entered the Potions classroom. Snape was already seated at his desk, staring intently at a pile of essays. He didn't bother to look up as she walked by, though it didn't matter. She had a plan.

As she'd come to expect, he never said a word. He rose to his feet instead, flicking his wand at the blackboard before he turned to leave the room.

She took a deep breath, her hand shooting up in the air. "Professor Snape?"

* * *

What the bloody hell was she _doing?_ Severus had answered three of her questions already, yet here she was, raising her hand for a fourth time. Surely she couldn't be having _that_ much trouble with her potion. It should've been simple to brew, especially for a NEWT level student.

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I think I missed a step. Could you take a look?"

He'd been trying so hard to keep his distance. He hadn't even made eye contact, staring at the wall as he'd answered her previous questions. Of course, he could always do the same with this one, but he couldn't ignore some tiny spark of curiosity. Why would _she_ of all people be struggling with this assignment? For the past few weeks, her work had been flawless. 

Rising from his desk, he strode over to where she was seated. He peered at the contents of her cauldron, giving his head a little shake.

"Miss Granger, your potion is…"

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening as they met his. He was standing too close. _Much_ too close. He could feel the warmth of her body, his senses reeling as he caught a whiff of her hair. It smelled like vanilla and sunlight, that faint fragrance she'd left behind in his hospital room. Even in his dream, he'd remembered it, breathing it in as she'd…

"There's nothing wrong with your potion," he snapped, taking an abrupt step backward. "Stop wasting my time."

With that, he swept from the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Was Hermione surprised that Snape had lost his temper? Of course not. She'd been making a nuisance of herself, going too far in her efforts to engage him. Really, it was no wonder he'd chosen to leave. She was just lucky he hadn't taken House Points on his way out the door.

But before that, the way he'd _looked_ at her… 

She could still picture it, his breath hitching in his throat as his eyes met hers. For that brief, utterly baffling moment, she'd _almost_ thought… 

How was that possible? He was her _teacher_ , a man who'd despised her for years. True, he seemed to find her more tolerable these days, but the idea that he might be _attracted_ to her?

Shaking her head, Hermione shed her school robes as she sat down at her desk. She made a brief attempt to work on her Charms essay before she set it aside, her thoughts returning to Snape.

Of course, he _wasn't_ just her teacher. Not anymore. The past few months had changed their dynamic, shattering boundaries she'd once taken for granted. She'd seen him broken, helpless, his stoic facade blown apart by raw suffering. Those terrible moments in the Shrieking Shack…

And what about St. Mungo's? She'd told herself that he'd enjoyed her company, but she knew it went much deeper than that. She'd felt his isolation, his despair, knowing it was her he'd turned to for comfort. Hadn't the healer said as much?

_"You're here and you care. That can make a huge difference, especially to someone who has no one else."_

After all that, how could she help but see him differently? To her, he'd become a human being, no less vulnerable than herself.

His perception of her had changed, too. He'd made that obvious, treating her more like an equal than he ever had in the past. The conversation they'd had last night… true, he'd responded sarcastically, but not with his usual venom. He'd listened to her concerns, taking them seriously enough to modify his behavior.

"Here, Crookshanks."

She opened the door, letting the cat out to roam the castle. Changing into her pajamas, she crawled into bed, still bewildered by what had happened that morning. No, Snape wasn't just her teacher, nor did he seem to see her as just another student. But that _look_ in his eyes, the intensity she'd seen there…

Of course, it didn't mean anything. How could it? Just a brief moment of weakness, some passing thought… no use dwelling on it, really.

What she _should_ be doing? Thinking of Ron. He _was_ her boyfriend, after all, a boyfriend she'd been neglecting for weeks.

" _Accio_ , Ron's letter."

Three unopened scrolls landed on the bed, filling her with guilt. She hadn't realized she was that far behind, igniting the tip of her wand as she opened the first one.

Ron missed her. He couldn't wait to see her over the holidays. He'd played Quidditch with Harry that afternoon, though it was a lot less fun with only two people.

The second letter was strikingly similar, other than a couple of lines about his work at George's store. The third was more peevish, wondering why he hadn't heard from her.

She couldn't blame him for that, promising herself that she'd write him first thing in the morning. In the meantime, she summoned his picture, studying features that were as familiar as her own.

But as she closed her eyes, it wasn't his face she saw. It was Snape's. Try as she might, she couldn't forget the way he'd looked at her, wondering why it had affected her so deeply. Why hadn't she ever felt that way when Ron…

She pushed the thought away, choosing to ignore it as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Hermione sat up, wondering what had woken her. She rubbed her eyes, watching as silhouettes gradually separated themselves from the darkness. Her desk… her wardrobe… the chair where she sat to do her homework…

A tall figure standing at the foot of the bed.

Before she could react, the figure moved, looming over her for a brief, terrifying moment before it drew back into the shadows. She shrank against the headboard, grabbing her wand from the bedside table as she opened her mouth to scream.


	6. Panic

##  **Chapter 6: Panic**

* * *

Severus jerked awake, staring down at the Patronus next to his bed. The cat opened its mouth to speak, Minerva's voice informing him that he was needed on the second floor.

" _Possible intruder. Keep an eye out on your way up here._ "

He dressed as quickly as possible, holding his wand at the ready as he crept upstairs. There was no sign of any disturbance, however, the halls peaceful and silent. He only heard voices when he'd reached his destination, picking up on the low murmur of conversation as he swept into the guest wing.

"Ah, Severus, there you are."

"What happened?" He looked past Flitwick, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a small figure in flannel pajamas. What was _she_ doing down here?

"Severus," Minerva said, waving him over. "Miss Granger says…"

"Someone was in my room!"

"We've checked and there's no sign of any intruder. A nightmare, perhaps?"

"He was in there!" Hermione insisted. "Standing right at the foot of my bed!"

" _He?_ " Severus frowned. "Who?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It was too dark to see."

"Then how can you be sure…"

"I know what I saw!"

"Severus, may I speak with you for a moment?"

He nodded at Minerva, following her until they were both out of earshot.

"She's been sleeping in the guest quarters?" he said, his voice low. "Why?"

"I thought she could use her own space."

"As opposed to other students who…"

"She missed an entire year of school," Minerva interrupted. "Not to mention everything else she's been through. We were worried she might have trouble adjusting."

"We?" He echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Molly Weasley wrote me. She said Hermione wasn't herself over the summer, avoiding the family and going off on her own all the time. It seemed she was having difficulty interacting with others, so we agreed that…"

"Meddling old bat."

Minerva blinked. "Pardon?"

"Not you," he said. "Molly."

"Well, she _did_ live with the girl for several months. I'm sure she knows what's best."

Severus shook his head, choosing not to mention all those visits to St. Mungo's. She'd had no trouble socializing with _him_ , had she? True, she'd grumbled about the Weasleys quite a bit, but who wouldn't? They really were a meddling lot, as intrusive as they were annoying.

"Has it occurred to either of you that Miss Granger might know what's best for herself? She isn't a child."

"I know she's not…" Minerva frowned. "Severus, why is this bothering you?"

"Bothering me? Not at all. I simply question the wisdom of allowing Molly Weasley to make decisions on the girl's behalf… especially when those decisions might compromise her safety." 

"Her safety hasn't been compromised."

"No? According to _her_ …"

"I heard what she said, Severus. I _also_ know that the door was shut when we arrived. No one else was in there, nor were there any signs of intrusion."

"If the intruder knew the password…"

"Riddle."

"Riddle?" he repeated, ignoring the chill that skittered up his spine.

Minerva nodded. "No one can access that room without answering the riddle. Besides, there's only one door. If someone _had_ managed to gain access, don't you think she would've seen them leave?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, forced to concede the point.

"She had a nightmare, that's all. I'll have Poppy give her a calming draught."

"Very well." He hesitated, letting out a heavy sigh. "If anything changes…"

"I'll let you know. Good night, Severus."

* * *

Nightmares? That _did_ seem like a logical explanation, yet Severus couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Wouldn't Hermione of all people know the difference between a real threat and an imagined one? She was the veteran of a war, not some cowering child still foolish enough to believe there were monsters under her bed.

He shut the door to his office, pouring himself a glass of Firewhiskey before he dumped the contents back in the bottle. No, he couldn't drink. Didn't want to, really. If there _was_ an intruder in the castle, he'd need to be on high alert, in full possession of his senses. True, this might very well be a false alarm, but still…

Still, he felt restless, his nerves tingling in a way they hadn't done since Voldemort had fallen. He settled himself at his desk, forcing himself to focus on a pile of essays that needed to be graded.

This was something he had done frequently during the war. It had always managed to calm him, his anxieties soothed by the monotony of the task. That was particularly true in this case – how many poorly written essays on the properties of fluxweed could one read before they died of boredom?

Deciding he'd rather not find out, Severus rose to his feet, stifling a yawn. He opened the door to his private quarters, only to stop in his tracks as he spotted a slip of parchment under his boot. He leaned over to pick it up, his eyes widening as he read the message it contained.

_This war will never be over. Not until I finish what he started._

* * *

"All right, Hermione?"

She nodded, reaching for a glass of pumpkin juice. "Fine, thanks."

"I heard you had a nightmare."

"What? Who told you that?"

Swallowing a mouthful of eggs, Ginny pointed to a roll of parchment on the table. "Mum wrote me."

"How would your _mum_ know…" Hermione trailed off, shaking her head. "Anyway, it wasn't a nightmare. Someone was in my room."

Ginny shrugged, buttering a piece of toast before she responded. "Yeah, I've had that happen. Nerine hangs her robes on the bed post sometimes, and I swear, it looks _just_ like…"

"No, I didn't imagine it. I saw them move, I…"

"You know what might help? Get Madame Pomfrey to give you some Dreamless Sleep. I took that for the first few days after I came back and it worked wonders."

"I don't _need_ … look, let's just forget it, all right? I'm fine."

"Okay." Ginny returned her attention to her plate, devouring a couple sausages. "Hey, did I tell you that the Holyhead Harpies are recruiting next year? I was thinking of trying out."

Hermione nodded, glancing up at the Head Table. To her surprise, Professor Snape was staring directly at her, his brow furrowed. Why? Did he believe her? Or did he assume she'd only been overreacting to a nightmare?

She hoped it wasn't the latter. It was embarrassing to have _anyone_ think she couldn't handle a bad dream, but _him?_ She'd hate for him to think of her as childish or immature, especially after all the progress they'd made over the past few months. 

Of course, there was nothing she could do about it right now. She just hoped the intruder would be caught, proving to herself and everyone else that she'd been telling the truth.

"I'll see you later," she told Ginny, reaching for her bag. "I've got to get to class."

* * *

Later that evening, Hermione headed to the library, eager to work on her latest essay. Strategies for using Transfiguration to combat Dark magic? Personally, she found the subject matter fascinating. She handed her permission slip to Madame Pince, making her way over to the Restricted Section.

It took her a while to find what she needed. She selected one book and then another, grabbing three more before she was satisfied. Finally, she headed back down the aisle, her arms laden down with ancient texts.

 _"Granger…"_ a voice whispered, so faint she barely heard it.

She stopped in her tracks, frowning as she glanced over her shoulder. Of course, she saw no one – other than her and Madame Pince, the library was deserted.

Shaking her head, she continued on her way, deciding it must've been her imagination. But then she heard a rustling sound, followed by soft, quick footsteps on the other side of the aisle.

"Madame Pince?"

It wasn't the librarian. Deep down, she knew that, stuffing the books in her bag before she pulled out her wand. She peered through the gaps in the shelves, her breath catching in her throat as she glimpsed a shadow on the other side. 

Unfortunately, she couldn't get a good look at whoever it was. They ducked around the corner, disappearing from sight.

What should she do? Should she call for help, or…

" _Confundus_."

The speaker said something else, though she couldn't understand them. Just a brief, barely audible whisper and her vision grew fuzzy around the edges, scraps of parchment flying around her head. Her arm was moving, wand slashing through the air… she couldn't seem to stop. Another whisper and she snatched several more books of the shelves, giving them the same treatment.

" _Enough._ "

She understood that final word, though it was too late to figure out who'd said it. All she could do was stare at the ground, her eyes widening in horror as she realized what she'd done.

"Madame Pince? _Madame Pince!_ "

"No need to shout. I can hear you just…" The librarian swept into the aisle, letting out a choking sound as she spotted the mess. "What have you _done?_ "

"I didn't do it!" Hermione said hastily. "I mean, I _did_ , but not on purpose! I was Confunded by… well, I don't know who cast the spell, but everything got fuzzy, and…"

"No one else has entered this library," said Madame Pince, biting off each word like she was chewing on a hard piece of taffy. "Not for hours. It's despicable enough that you would ruin such valuable property. Offering such a poor excuse for your behavior? That is inexcusable."

"Honestly, I didn't…"

"You've destroyed six books, four of which are irreplaceable. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to think of a suitable response. Really, what could she say? It wasn't like Madame Pince would believe her.

"Please," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "May I speak with Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, you most certainly can. In fact, I think the headmistress should be summoned _immediately_."

* * *

Severus retired to his quarters right after dinner, deciding to make an early night of it. He wasn't particularly tired, but the day had been stressful, leaving him longing for a bit of quiet time. What he needed was a pile of books and a nice cup of tea, something to distract him from his troubled thoughts.

Of course, that was easier said than done. He'd spent all day dwelling on the supposed intruder, unable to stop thinking about the note he'd received. Was it any coincidence that both those things had happened on the same night? Somehow, he doubted it.

How had someone gained access to his office? How had they found their way into her room? His was protected by a password he'd never shared with another soul, hers guarded by a riddle that had to be relatively secure.

_This war will never be over. Not until I finish what he started._

Was it a tasteless prank? A genuine threat? Both of those possibilities set him on edge, though of course, the latter was far more disturbing. _Finish what he started_ … what did that mean? Was it a reference to Voldemort's plan to conquer the Wizarding world… or his attempt to kill his most "loyal" servant?

Severus shook his head, refusing to dwell on it any longer. He flipped open a book as he sipped his tea, perusing an exhaustive list of Chinese potions ingredients.

The distraction worked, at least for a little while. He finished half the book along with an entire pot of tea, surprised to discover it was well past 11 PM. Of course, he was still wide awake, nerves thrumming under the effects of far too much caffeine. He leaned back in his chair, deciding it wouldn't hurt to read a few more…

His head snapped up, his eyes scanning the room. Was he hearing things? No, there it was again, a soft, peculiar noise like someone was shuffling a deck of cards.

Where was it coming from? Drawing his wand, he pointed it at his trunk, which seemed to be the source.

It moved.

Only slightly at first, but then it started to shake, hinges squeaking like something inside was attempting to break free. A Boggart, perhaps? He flicked his wand, bracing himself as he unfastened the latches.

" _Riddik_ …"

He stumbled backward, his eyes widening as the trunk exploded. Dozens of photographs flew across the room, duplicating themselves in rapid succession. They covered the bed, the floor, piling up until they were several layers deep. Even then, they didn't stop, countless images of Lily laughing up at him as he struggled to bring them under control.

" _Prohibere duplici!_ " Cursing under his breath, he tried again. " _Summa desinunt!_ "

After a few more attempts, he managed to stop the duplication, though it didn't end there. He cast what seemed like hundreds of Vanishing spells, finally returning his quarters to their former state. Tucking a single copy of the picture back in the little box, he closed the trunk, reinforcing it with an extra set of wards.

What did it matter that someone had gained access to his office? That was _nothing_ compared to them invading his private quarters. What they'd done, attempting to torture him with Lily's picture, of all things…

That was personal. _Far_ too personal.

Severus sighed, returning to his armchair though he no longer had any motivation to read. He stared into the fire instead, waiting to see if there were any other signs of a disturbance. A couple hours passed before he relaxed somewhat, though even then, he couldn't imagine falling asleep. He searched for something to take the edge off, desperate for a few hours of peace.

Firewhiskey? No, he needed something more effective. 

He summoned a vial of Dreamless Sleep, tipping it into his mouth. To his relief, the immunity he'd developed over the summer had worn off, his eyelids growing heavy as he slipped into bed. He'd have to be more careful about his dosage in the future, just to be sure that the potion retained its effectiveness. Really, he'd been foolish to overindulge, should've known better than to…

Severus did fall asleep, though it certainly wasn't dreamless. He woke up an hour later, the sound of his screams still echoing off the walls.


	7. Belief

##  **Chapter 7: Belief**

* * *

For the first time since his return, Severus bore an eerie resemblance to his former self. He stalked through the halls like some oversized bird of prey, sneering at anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path.

Clearly, sleep deprivation had taken its toll on him. It didn't help that he was perilously on edge, his muscles aching with tension. Of course, he would've preferred to take his frustrations out on the perpetrator of these recent stunts, but until that person was found…

"Ah, Severus," Minerva said as he swept into the teacher's lounge. "We were wondering when you'd show up."

"My apologies. There was an… incident that needed my attention."

"Did it have anything to do with Mr. Wiggins?" asked Flitwick. "I just saw him coming out of the dungeons – poor boy looked quite traumatized."

"Yes, well, I don't tolerate carelessness, especially when one is handling potentially dangerous ingredients."

"What did he…"

"Enough," Minerva interrupted. "Let's call this meeting to order, shall we?"

Finding a seat near the back, Severus pretended to listen as she dispensed with her usual business. He put in an order for Potions supplies, nearly nodding off as Rolanda launched into a lengthy explanation regarding the need for new Quidditch uniforms. Really, he didn't see why he had to be here. He could've prepared a list and sent it straight up to Minerva's office, no need to sit through all the mundane…

"Now that that's taken care of, I'd like to talk about Hermione Granger. I assume all of you heard about the incident in the library?"

"Library?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you weren't at breakfast, were you? Really, Severus, you should leave the dungeons more often."

He rolled his eyes, deciding not to remind her that his office, classroom, and living quarters were all located down there. "What happened?"

"Miss Granger tore up a bunch of books," Flitwick said. "Irma was furious."

"Impossible."

"I would've thought so, too," Minerva said, "but it couldn't have been anyone else."

Severus shook his head, remembering the books Hermione had brought to Saint Mungo's. She'd handled them like priceless treasures, seeming to forget that they were nothing more than ink and parchment.

"Impossible," he repeated. "That girl would rather slice off one of her own limbs."

"Severus, she admitted it."

"Indeed? What did she say?"

"She insisted that she hadn't done it on purpose. Swore that she must've been Confounded."

"Well, that makes a lot more sense."

Minerva shook her head. "According to Irma, there was no one else in the library. Severus, you know how vigilant she is – do you really think she wouldn't have seen someone come in?"

"Miss Granger was alone in her room the other night, too," Flitwick pointed out. "We couldn't find a shred of evidence to prove otherwise."

"Exactly," Minerva said. "I don't believe she's doing this intentionally, though it does seem like her imagination is getting the better of her."

"War trauma?" Poppy suggested.

Minerva nodded. "We've seen quite a bit of that this year, as you well know."

"Yes, I am running rather low on sleeping potions and calming draughts. If you can find the time, Severus…"

"Have any of you considered," he interrupted, "that these incidents might be a case of legitimate harassment?"

"Given the lack of evidence," Minerva said, "that seems unlikely. We must also consider that Miss Granger was known to have emotional issues. According to Molly Weasley…"

"Oh, bugger Molly Weasley!"

" _Severus!_ "

The other professors stared at him, obviously shocked by his vehemence. He'd surprised himself, truth be told, though it didn't matter. He knew damn well that Hermione's behavior had nothing to do with any _emotional issues_.

"Forgive me," he said. "My only point is that Mrs. Weasley's… _opinions_ are irrelevant in this situation. This is clearly a Hogwarts issue, one that I believe should be handled internally. I also believe…" 

Should he admit that these things had been happening to him, too? He hesitated, deciding that the incident with Lily's picture was too personal to share. Other than that, what could he say? That someone had slipped a note under his door? Minerva would assume it was just a prank – a tasteless prank, but a prank nonetheless.

No. What he needed was more proof, something that couldn't be denied.

"I _also_ believe," he continued, "that these incidents should be investigated further. May I have your permission to do so?"

"I don't see where that's necessary. We've already…"

"If, as you say, there is no legitimate threat, then no harm can come from me poking around a bit."

Minerva sighed. "Very well, Severus, but do this on your own time. I don't want it interfering with your teaching duties."

His _duties?_ He shook his head, remembering the endless demands that Dumbledore had put upon him during the war. He'd rarely missed a class, even when the Dark Lord had placed additional strain on his time. He'd worked diligently for the Order, played the loyal Death Eater, all while maintaining a full-time teaching career. Did she _really_ think he couldn't handle one little investigation? If anything, he had more time than he knew what to do with these days.

"Well then, I suppose this meeting is adjourned. Severus, may I speak with you privately?"

"Of course."

He wasn't surprised by her request. From her perspective, his concern for Hermione had to seem unusual, even unwarranted. Fortunately, he had a perfect excuse for his behavior.

"Your interest in Miss Granger…"

"I wouldn't call it an interest," he said, "merely an obligation. Need I remind you that the girl saved my life? I'm indebted to her, whether I wish to be or not."

"Oh yes, I'd completely forgotten. But Severus…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"While I'm glad to see you treating her more kindly…"

"I haven't been kind."

"Less… acrimonious then."

He inclined his head, deciding this was acceptable.

"I believe this is a positive change, but that doesn't mean you should encourage these odd behaviors. What she needs – what we _all_ need – is to put the war behind us. A return to normalcy, if you will."

" _Normalcy?_ " he repeated. "What's that?"

"Well," she said, her lips twitching, "as close to normal as it ever gets around here."

He nodded. "That is my goal, as well as the reason for my investigation. If I can put the girl's fears to rest, perhaps we can finish the school year without further incident. That would be better for all of us, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, I suppose it would. Very well, Severus, do what you must."

* * *

No matter how hard she tried, Hermione couldn't seem to focus. She'd fallen asleep twice in Professor Binns' class, though that wasn't nearly as bad as the Charms essay she'd forgotten to finish. To her relief, Professor Flitwick had chosen not to penalize her, extending the deadline for a week as he'd murmured about the difficult time she'd been having.

Of course, that didn't mean he _believed_ her. None of the professors did. They might be concerned, but that had nothing to do with the fact that she might be in danger. They didn't make announcements or take any precautions, didn't even bother to assign additional patrols to the guest wing where she slept. They obviously thought it was all in her head, some belated response to the traumas of war.

If this had been a Muggle school, they would've sent her to counseling, perhaps even given her medication. In the Wizarding world, mental issues were either tolerated or outright ignored, unless one was so far gone that they earned themselves a permanent residence at Saint Mungo's.

 _Was_ there something wrong with her mind? That was the real question, one that had begun to trouble her immensely. She'd honestly thought there was an intruder in her room, one who'd also forced her to destroy those books. But what if the professors were right? What if she'd imagined that someone else was there, her perception so distorted that…

"Bollocks!"

The cauldron exploded, spraying her with putrid green liquid. To her horror, she burst into tears, dismayed by yet another reminder of how detached she was from reality. 

"Hey Granger! Looks like you've got a rat spleen in your hair!"

"20 points from Slytherin!"

"But sir…"

"Quiet, Mr. Forrester. Unless, of course, you'd like me to double it."

The Slytherin shook his head, his eyes wide. It wasn't difficult to understand his confusion – Snape had always favored his own students, reluctant to take points for even the most grievous offenses.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered as he came to stand behind her. He didn't acknowledge her apology, scowling as he Vanished the mess she'd created. 

"My office," he said. "8 PM tonight."

* * *

Hermione couldn't believe Snape had given her detention. It felt like a personal insult, a brutal reminder that he still held all the power. Of course, he _was_ her teacher, but punishing her like she was just another student? That felt wrong somehow, as if the past few months had never happened.

That wasn't the only thing that felt off. Her day went from bad to worse, a dismal performance in Transfiguration followed by an A on her Arithmancy test. Acceptable? She supposed it could've been worse, though she'd never scored anything less than an O in that class.

What was _wrong_ with her? True, she'd barely slept since the night she'd seen an intruder in her room… or had _thought_ she'd seen… she didn't even know anymore.

"Come in."

She sighed, opening the door to Snape's office. He was seated at his desk with a pot of tea beside him, brow furrrowed as he inspected a roll of parchment.

"Sit down, Miss Granger."

Quietly, she obeyed, dropping into the empty chair on the other side of the desk.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"To serve detention."

He looked up, his dark eyes connecting with hers. "This isn't detention. More of a meeting, I'd say."

"Look, I really _am_ sorry about the cauldron. I didn't mean…"

"I'm sure you didn't," he interrupted, "though I'd like to hear your explanation. It's unlike you to be so careless."

For the first time that day, she felt slightly better. True, he might still punish her, but at least he was willing to hear her out.

"I haven't been sleeping," she told him. "After what happened in my room, the library…"

"Yes, I heard about the books. You believe you were Confunded?"

"That's what it felt like. I heard someone speak and then everything went fuzzy, and then… I don't know what happened. Professor McGonagall says…"

"I'm well aware of her opinion. Right now, I want to hear yours."

"Honestly?" She hesitated, letting out a heavy sigh. "I'm scared."

"That seems like a logical reaction," he said, pouring a cup of tea. "If you believe someone's targeting you…"

"It isn't just that."

"No?" 

To her surprise, he set the tea in front of her, fixing a second cup for himself. He even passed her the cream and sugar, leaning back in his chair as he waited for her response.

"I… I'm scared that they might be right."

"Who?"

"Everyone. The other teachers, Madame Pince, even Professor McGonagall. They sseem to think it's all in my head, like I'm having some sort of mental breakdown."

"I don't believe that," Snape said quietly.

"You don't?"

"No," he said, pausing to take a sip of tea. "In fact, I'm quite certain that we're dealing with a legitimate threat."

"How…"

He retrieved a slip of parchment from his pocket, sliding it across the desk. "Read it."

"The war will never be over," she read aloud, a chill skittering up her spine. "Not until I finish what he started."

"Someone slipped that under my door three nights ago. The same night…"

"The night I saw an intruder in my room."

"Yes, and that isn't all. The night before last…"

"The night I went to the library?"

He nodded. "Someone managed to gain access to my private quarters. They cast a jinx that duplicated one of my personal items."

"What was it?"

"It doesn't matter," he said. "The point is that I believe you. I'd be foolish not to, considering that these incidents have been happening to me, too."

"Have you told anyone?"

"No."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it isn't enough. You saw how the others reacted to the incidents with you, how quick they were to trivialize…"

"It was like they _wanted_ to believe I'd made it up."

"Precisely. And why do you think that is?"

"I'd guess it has something to do with Volde…" She hesitated, noticing his sharp intake of breath. "You-Know-Who being gone. I think a lot of people convinced themselves that getting rid of him would solve all our problems."

"An astute observation," Snape said. 

"Of course, that isn't realistic."

"No," he agreed, "but they're eager to put the war behind them. They're determined to believe that all is well, that…"

"That there's nothing left to be afraid of," she finished for him.

He inclined his head. "A natural reaction, I suppose, though it does make things more difficult for us."

"So what do we do?"

"Truthfully?" He sighed, looking as tired as she felt. "I don't know. It's impossible to come up with a plan when we have no idea who we're dealing with or what their intentions are. It could be that these are just a series of pranks, disturbing yet not inherently dangerous. But…"

"But we can't afford to take that chance."

"No, which is why I want you to report directly to me from now on. Whatever happens, anything you might see, I want you to tell me. Even if it seems insignificant, a slight inkling, some random suspicion…"

"I'll tell you." She hesitated, hoping she wasn't crossing the line. "If you agree to do the same."

He finished the last of his tea, eyeing her over the rim of his cup. Finally, he set it back on the table, folding his hands in his lap.

"Agreed."

* * *

Nearly a week passed without incident, allowing Severus to relax to some degree. He even managed to get a bit more sleep, his nightmares stifled by sheer exhaustion. Still, he knew it was just a matter of time. If life had taught him anything, it was that no problem could be obliterated by wishful thinking.

As such, he wasn't surprised when Hermione approached him after class a few days later, telling him she had an incident to report.

"Well, I don't know if I'd call it an _incident_ ," she said, "but…"

"What happened? Did you see anything?"

"No, but I think Crookshanks did."

"Crookshanks?" He frowned. "That's your…"

"My cat."

"I see. Go on."

"For the past couple weeks, I've been keeping him with me at night. He usually just curls up and goes to sleep, but last night, he was acting weird."

"So your _cat_ …" Severus trailed off, biting back a sarcastic remark. True, she was referencing a type of animal that was notorious for peculiar behavior, but hadn't he told her to report even the most minor occurrences? 

"Your cat," he repeated, keeping his tone mild. "What did he do?"

"I think he was standing guard. He sat by the door all night, refusing to come when I called. I even heard him growl a couple times, like he was warning someone off. Someone or some _thing_ … I really don't know."

"The castle is full of animals," Severus pointed out. "He could've been growling at a stray mouse, or perhaps another student's companion."

She shook her head. "I've never seen him growl at ordinary animals… or people, for that matter. He only acts like this when he senses danger."

"Such as?"

"Remember Scabbers?"

"Scabbers?" Severus frowned, wondering why the name sounded familiar.

"Wormtail. He was…"

"Impersonating Ronald Weasley's rat. Yes, I remember now."

Hermione nodded. "Crookshanks figured it out long before any of us did. He kept trying to attack him, nearly killed him once or twice."

"It's a shame he didn't succeed. Go on."

"I couldn't understand why he hated him so much. He didn't have a problem with anyone else's animals, even other rats. But Crookshanks is very smart. The witch I bought him from told me he was half-Kneazle."

"Ah, that explains it."

"So you believe…"

Severus inclined his head. "I believe your cat could indeed prove useful. He might not be large enough to capture an intruder, but he at least has the ability to warn you, it seems. Keep him with you, and do let me know if it happens again."

"I will."

He thought that was the end of their conversation, though she clearly wasn't in any hurry to leave. She hovered in front of his desk instead, their conversation replaced by awkward silence.

"Was there anything else?"

"Actually, I was hoping…"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any Dreamless Sleep?"

He frowned, noticing the dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, her face pale with exhaustion. Unfortunately, he didn't have any Dreamless Sleep to give her. He'd Vanished his entire supply, frustrated in the aftermath of a ghastly nightmare.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "Nor do I have time to brew a fresh batch. I still have four classes ahead of me, not to mention two detentions scheduled for this afternoon."

"That's all right."

"Perhaps you might ask Madame Pomfrey?"

"She already thinks I'm cracked. It's okay, really. I'll just…"

He shook his head, suppressing a sigh. "I'll have it for you this evening."

"You really don't have to…"

"Miss Granger?"

"Yeah?"

"A simple 'thank you' will suffice."


	8. Trigger

##  **Chapter 8: Trigger**

* * *

"You're early."

"You didn't give me a specific time."

"No," Severus said, conceding the point. "I suppose I didn't."

He waved Hermione into his office, shutting the door with a flick of his wand. Draining the last of his tea, he rose from his desk, gesturing at the lone portrait that hung on the wall.

"Sublime artistry, wouldn't you agree?"

It took her a minute to spot it, half hidden between towering shelves. It was a small, crude etching, occupied by a sour faced wizard with a bulbous nose.

"Um, yes, it's very nice."

"Five points from Gryffindor."

"What?!"

"Five points," he repeated. "Now tell me what you _really_ think."

"It's…"

"Yes?"

"It's the ugliest portrait I've ever seen."

"A fair assessment. Five points to Gryffindor."

He heard her mutter under her breath, quite certain she'd just called him a git. That only added to his amusement, his lips twitching as the painting huffed in protest.

"Ugly? How _dare_ you…"

"Not just ugly," he told the portrait. "Positively hideous."

"If you don't like it," Hermione said, "why do you keep it here?"

"Not for aesthetic appeal, I assure you. _Revelio_."

"Bugger off."

" _Revelio_ ," he repeated, brandishing his wand for extra emphasis. Mumbling a flurry of obscenities, the portrait slid aside, revealing a spiral staircase.

"What's that?"

"My personal lab. Come."

They descended the stairs, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Hermione. Of course, he wasn't surprised by her reaction. Unlike the Potions classroom, his lab featured an impressive array of equipment, fine pewter cauldrons gleaming beneath the floating candles. It was the one luxury he'd afforded himself over the years, a hidden sanctuary he could escape to whenever circumstances allowed him to do so. 

"Have a seat," he said, plucking several jars off the shelves. "This won't take long."

Brewing was intimately familiar, though it had never ceased to be hypnotic. His entire consciousness was reduced to the task at hand, chopping and stirring, measuring the precise amount of ingredients. Only when he'd set the cauldrons to simmer did he remember Hermione, puzzled by her uncharacteristic silence.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"You're… unusually quiet this evening."

He glanced up, frowning as he noticed her expression. Her eyes were scanning a slip of parchment, her lower lip trembling.

"What is that?" he said, taking a step closer. "Another threat?"

"I wouldn't call it a threat. It's…"

She trailed off, hesitating before she held it out to him. He dropped onto the bench beside her, his stomach tightening as he spotted the familiar lines of script.

_What you did to them was unforgivable. You might as well have killed them._

"Where did this come from?"

"I found it under my door this afternoon."

He nodded, scanning the rest of the note. "And I assume this is in reference to…"

"My parents."

"I see. Well, whatever you did…"

"I erased their memories," she interrupted, her voice catching on a sob. "I made them forget they even had a daughter. gave them different names, sent them to Australia, I…"

He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly, her head was resting on his shoulder. The weight of it made him feel strange, panic mingled with a flurry of other emotions he couldn't seem to identify. He forgot how to move, how to speak, sitting there frozen for several endless moments before he forced a few words out of his mouth.

"Ah, so that's where they went."

"You knew they were gone?"

"I'd heard about their disappearance," he responded, willing himself to relax. "Knowing that the Dark Lord wasn't responsible, I naturally wondered…"

"I only did it because I had to. They were…"

"They were sitting targets. If you hadn't acted on their behalf, they would've been slaughtered."

"So it wasn't unforgivable?"

"Unless you think they would've fared better in the clutches of Bellatrix Lestrange…"

She shuddered in response, prompting him to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Bewildering though it was, it seemed like the right thing to do, her body relaxing against his as she sniffled somewhere close to his ear.

"I'll never see them again."

"You can't know that."

"Even if I found a way to reverse the charm, they'd never forgive me. How could they?"

"You had no other choice."

"Maybe not," she said, "but they won't understand that."

He tried to summon up an optimistic remark, though that proved to be a useless endeavor. Offering comfort had never been one of his strengths, probably because he had little experience in such things. When was the last time anyone had turned to _him_ for reassurance? He couldn't recall such an occasion.

"Professor Snape?"

The formality seemed odd when she was sitting so close, her body nestled beneath the crook of his arm. Still, there was something to be said for observing protocol, a touch of familiarity in an otherwise bewildering situation.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"There's something I still don't understand."

"What is it?"

"How did they know about my parents? Other than Harry and Ron, I've never told anyone."

Severus hesitated, losing his train of thought as she lifted her head to look at him. Their faces were inches apart, so close he could see golden flecks in her eyes. He hadn't been this close to anyone in… he couldn't even remember, deciding it was irrelevant as his gaze was drawn to her lips. He'd never realized how inviting they were, soft and pink, parting ever so slightly as he leaned closer, so close that his breath mingled with hers.

_"Severus!"_

He jerked back, whipping his head around to see where the voice had come from. To his relief, it was only Minerva's Patronus, informing him that he was needed upstairs.

"Wait here," he said brusquely, flicking his wand at the cauldrons as he hurried from the room.

* * *

Hermione shook her head, struggling to wrap her mind around what had just happened. Had Snape really put his arm around her? Yes, but that wasn't all. If they hadn't been interrupted, she was almost sure he would've…

She shivered as she remembered the intensity in his eyes, his body leaning toward hers like she was some kind of magnetic force. For that brief, baffling moment, she'd forgotten about everything else, her heart pounding furiously as her nerve endings tingled with anticipation.

Could she really be attracted to _Snape?_ It seemed absurd, yet even now, part of her wished he'd come back and finish what he'd started. Or what _she'd_ started? Either way, she hadn't wanted it to stop. 

Letting out a shaky sigh, she rose to check on the potion. She removed the Stasis Charm he'd placed on the cauldrons, letting them simmer for a few more minutes before she turned down the heat. By then, she felt more settled, focused on the task at hand as she gave the potion a final stir.

One by one, she filled the vials, arranging them neatly on the counter. She'd just sat back down when he finally returned, sweeping into the room without so much as glancing in her direction. He did notice her handiwork, however, shaking his head as he stared at the empty cauldrons.

"Did I instruct you to…"

"Professor Snape?"

"What?"

"A simple 'thank you' will suffice."

He snorted, relieving the tension somewhat as he handed her a couple vials. Tucking them in her bag, she frowned as she studied his profile.

"Something happened, didn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Professor McGonagall? She sounded like something was wrong."

Finally, he gave her a cursory glance, waving her in the direction of his office. She followed him upstairs, waiting quietly as he settled himself at his desk.

"There was another… incident."

"Incident?"

"Someone took it upon themselves to dress up one of the statues." He paused, taking a deep breath. "It was clad in full Death Eater regalia."

"Are you serious?"

He inclined his head. "Unfortunately, we couldn't find the culprit. We even questioned the ghosts."

"Do you think…" She tried to choose her words carefully, hoping she wouldn't offend him. "I don't mean to make accusations, but could it be one of the Slytherins?"

"It's certainly possible, though I haven't noticed anything suspicious."

"Me either," she said. "Besides, a Slytherin wouldn't have known about my parents."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there are few secrets in the Wizarding world. You of all people should know that by now."

Did he intend for his words to have a double meaning? Either way, she couldn't help thinking about that strange moment of intimacy they'd shared. No doubt there'd be consequences if anyone suspected him of being involved with a student. He might even lose his job.

Meanwhile, she still had Ron to consider. Their relationship hadn't been easy these past few months, but that didn't mean she was willing to cheat on him. How could she, knowing how much it would hurt him if he ever found out?

"It's getting late," Snape said abruptly, rising from his desk. "I should escort you to your room."

* * *

Severus added an extra layer of security to Hermione's door, muttering under his breath as he headed downstairs. Boundaries. Yes, boundaries were good, something he needed to be more mindful of in the future. Guarding her against unidentified threats wasn't enough. No, he also needed to protect her from his own foolishness.

"Idiot."

Why had he allowed himself to get so close? Why hadn't he recognized the risk involved in doing so? He was only a man, after all, one who'd spent most of his life deprived of intimate contact.

There were a few exceptions, nights long ago when desperation had driven him to seek out the only companionship he could find. He'd purchased it somewhere deep in Knockturn Alley, trading a handful of Galleons for much needed release.

Was that intimacy? Perhaps not. He hadn't even known who they were, their faces shrouded in darkness as he'd lifted their robes and taken what he'd wanted. Those encounters had been brief, temporary relief followed by an inevitable sense of shame. It was the latter that had made him stop, long before the Second War, loneliness replaced by a grim determination to manage on his own.

That had been easier than he'd expected, helped by Potter's timely arrival at Hogwarts. Following that, he'd had neither the time or the inclination to worry about sex, constant stress causing his libido to plummet. Soon enough, it had disappeared entirely, eclipsed by more urgent matters.

_Play your part. Do what needs to be done._

For as long as Severus could remember, that had been his singular focus. Whatever he'd done, everything he'd said or thought or felt… it had all been in service to that cause. When he'd eaten, it hadn't mattered whether he'd enjoyed the food. He ate to keep his body strong, to make sure he was up to the task at hand. Getting enough sleep? A well rested mind was a sharp one, a necessary asset when dealing with two of the most brilliant wizards the world had ever known.

Truly, it was no wonder he felt lost. He'd forgotten how to live for himself, hadn't dared to want anything for his own sake. He hadn't needed it. Hadn't deserved it, really. What did it matter, anyway? He'd been living on borrowed time, convinced he'd be dead by the end of the war.

Indeed, he'd expected to die alone. He'd certainly lived that way, assuming such a fate would be easier to bear after so many years of solitude.

He'd been wrong.

Severus shuddered, recalling that dreadful night in the Shrieking Shack. Only then had he understood what "dying alone" truly meant. Bravery had given way to terror, futility and desperation mingling with a lifetime of regret. In that moment, all his facades had crumbled, replaced by raw, aching need. It wasn't just the wounds that had left him gasping for air. No, it was that terrible need for comfort, an inexplicable hunger to hear just one kind word as he'd lain there dying.

And he _had_ died. He knew that now. True, his body had survived and his mind was relatively intact, but some part of him had never left the Shrieking Shack. He'd left it on that floor, a mess of preconceived notions about who he was and what he was supposed to want.

But where did that leave him? What was he supposed to do now that his previous life had ended? He couldn't go back to the way things were before, years of isolation followed by a solitary death.

Years? No, he had _decades_ ahead of him. Just the thought of spending all that time alone…

Perhaps his former self could've managed it, but he knew better now. 

The alternative? He didn't know what that was yet, but he'd felt hints of it with Hermione. Indeed, he'd been intoxicated by that feeling, the warmth of her body pressed against his as she'd rested her head on his shoulder. 

That was a type of intimacy that couldn't be found in Knockturn Alley, one he didn't even know he'd been craving until he'd experienced it. Suddenly, he'd found himself imagining what it would be like to have a companion, a partner, something he hadn't allowed himself to consider in more than two decades.

Of course, that didn't mean _Hermione_ could be that partner. Not only was she half his age, but she was also one of his students. He'd been foolish to let the thought cross his mind, even more of a fool to let her get so close. What he needed was someone older, more appropriate, someone who wasn't…

Severus stopped in his tracks, frowning as he spotted a scrap of parchment under his boot. Once again, it had been slipped under the door to his quarters, the handwriting eerily familiar.

_You do have a thing for Mudbloods, don't you, Severus? Think this one will let you fuck her before you inevitably get her killed?_

Chills skittered up his spine, his hands shaking as he sank into his armchair. Just the thought that history might repeat itself in such a hideous way…

But it wasn't just that. 

No, whoever had written the message must've been there. They had to have seen what had happened in his private lab. But _how?_

That was the first, most obvious question. How had they gained access, bypassing all his security measures? How had they managed such a thing without him detecting their presence? There wasn't anywhere to hide down there, so how in the _hell_ …

Yes, he wanted to know how, but more importantly, he needed to know _why_. Why were they doing this? What was their motivation?

And then, of course, there was the biggest question of all.

What could he do to _stop_ them?


	9. Menace

##  **Chapter 9: Menace**

* * *

"Aurora, may I have a word?"

Professor Sinistra looked up from her plate, her expression startled. Severus wasn't surprised by her reaction – he couldn't recall ever speaking to her beyond the occasional brief greeting.

"Certainly," she said, recovering her wits somewhat. "What can I do for you, Severus?"

"I need to speak with the Slytherins. Can you arrange a meeting?"

"Of course. How about 4 PM this afternoon?"

To his relief, she didn't ask any questions, deferring to him as unofficial Head of House though he no longer held that position. He reported to the Common Room later that day, feeling strangely out of place as the students gathered around him.

"Thank you for coming," he said. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Until that moment, he hadn't realized how much the dynamics of his house had changed. The students were unnaturally subdued, an air of defeat hanging over the Common Room. Most had lost friends and family during the war, but he didn't get the impression they were holding any grudges. All he sensed was sadness and shame.

Was that such a bad thing? Perhaps not. He'd always hoped the Slytherins would redeem themselves, that they'd become something more than villains or scapegoats. Could that be possible now that the wars were over? None of them had ever been Death Eaters. Youth had saved them from recruitment, sparing them from having to fight in that last, terrible battle.

As for Voldemort… what reason would they have to admire him now? His lofty ambitions had ended in failure, his followers either dead or locked up in Azkaban.

"Very well," he said when his last round of questions yielded no results. "You may go."

Indeed, the future looked brighter for his Slytherins, though that didn't solve his immediate dilemma. He knew better than to ask Minerva if he could question her Gryffindors, nor would Flitwick appreciate the suggestion that a Ravenclaw might be involved. Both still assumed these were nothing more than pranks, a belief that persisted despite the incident with the Death Eater robes.

"Tasteless, to be sure," Minerva had said as she'd inspected the statue, "but hardly any cause for alarm."

Would she feel differently if she saw the note he'd received last night? Probably, though it wasn't as if he could show it to her. The mere suggestion that anything inappropriate had happened between him and Hermione…

No, he couldn't rely on his colleagues to assist him. He'd have to seek out other options.

* * *

"Have a seat, Miss Granger."

Hermione obeyed, waiting patiently as Snape finished grading the essay in front of him. Finally, he lifted his head, something sparking in his eyes as they met hers.

"I was wondering," he said quietly, "if you might do me a favor."

"What do you need?"

"The Invisibility Cloak… does Potter still have it?"

"I think so."

"Good. Can you write to him and see if he'll allow you to borrow it?"

"I can, but…" She frowned, noticing the tension in his jaw. "Did something else happen?"

"I received another note."

"What did it say?"

He hesitated, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strained, his eyes fixed on the wall behind her.

"If you don't mind, Miss Granger, I'd rather not repeat it."

She resisted the urge to question him further, realizing that she wasn't likely to get any answers. Instead, she mumbled something about lunch, relieved when he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

* * *

 _Dear Harry_ , she wrote a few minutes later. _Can I borrow the Invisibility Cloak? I know how important it is to you, but strange things have been happening and we're trying to get to the bottom of it. I'll send it back as soon as I can, I promise._

She received his response at breakfast the next morning, smiling as she scanned the familiar handwriting.

_No such thing as a peaceful year at Hogwarts, eh? I'm almost jealous._

Catching Snape's eye, she pointed at the package. He nodded, taking a sip of tea before he resumed his conversation with Flitwick.

There was another letter from Ron, wondering why she could find the time to write to Harry but not to him. She felt a flash of annoyance, though that was quickly followed by guilt. He did have a point – she'd been neglecting him for weeks.

 _I'm sorry, Ron_ , she wrote back. _Things have been hectic around here. Be patient with me, yeah? I'll write again soon, and of course, I'll see you over winter break._

 _56 more days_ , he responded. _Seems like forever_.

_I know, but it'll be worth it. We'll have two whole weeks to spend together._

She wrote him frequently after that, determined to put more effort into their relationship. True, they'd had problems over the summer, but that had been in the immediate aftermath of the war. Would things be better now that they'd both had time and space to heal? She hoped so.

 _So_ , she asked him a few days later. _What do you want for Christmas?_

 _You_.

_Ron, I can't believe you made that poor owl fly all the way up here just to deliver a one word response. Anyway, you already have me._

_Yeah, but you know what I mean, don't you? I was hoping…_ He'd scribbled out several lines before he continued. _We don't have to if you don't want to, but you asked what I wanted for Christmas. Can't think of anything I want more than that._

He wanted to shag. Of course he did. She'd kept him waiting for months, after all, a reluctance she still didn't understand. Would she feel differently the next time she saw him? She couldn't be sure, but it seemed best to leave that door open.

_Why don't we wait and see what happens?_

_Sounds good_ , he wrote back. _Can't wait to see you, 'Mione_.

* * *

In many ways, Severus had reconciled himself with the past, though he'd never gotten over his hatred for Halloween. He left before the feast began, unable to shake a feeling of unease as he patrolled the halls.

Was he being paranoid? Maybe. The school was utterly quiet, so peaceful that he began to relax. He checked the upper floors one last time, deciding he might as well head back to the dungeons and grade a few essays. Perhaps he'd even have time to do some reading if…

" _Bloody hell!_ "

The cry came from several floors below, high-pitched and filled with terror. He raced down multiple flights of stairs, skidding to a stop as he spotted a crowd gathered outside the Great Hall.

"Prefects!" Minerva said briskly. "Escort everyone to your common rooms!"

The hallway began to clear, drawing Severus's attention to the opposite wall. His eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he spotted the graffiti. _DEATH TO MUDBLOODS_ , one message screamed, while another proclaimed that _ALL TRAITORS MUST DIE_. Beneath them was a perfect replica of the Dark Mark, blood dripping down the wall to pool near his feet.

"Are all the students accounted for?" he said, his voice low.

Minerva nodded. "We did a headcount right before you arrived."

"Good."

Severus saw panic in her eyes, mirrored in the expressions of the other professors. Finally, they were taking this threat seriously, their wands drawn as they split up to scour the halls. He waited until they were gone, taking a closer look at the graffiti before he glanced over his shoulder.

"Miss Granger? You can come out now."

He watched her remove the cloak, smirking as he noticed her reddened cheeks.

"I was just…"

"Up to your old tricks, I see."

She snorted. "You were the one who told me to send for the damn thing."

"Touche."

He motioned for her to follow him downstairs, reluctant to let her out of his sight. Unfortunately, a thorough search of the dungeons yielded nothing, leaving him no choice but to escort her to her room.

"Stay here," he said. "Don't come out until morning. Whoever is doing this…"

"I know."

Not satisfied with the riddle's protection, he added an extra layer of security to her door. Finally, he returned to the first floor, resisting the urge to perform another search.

"Ah, Severus," Minerva said as she watched him approach. "Did you find anything?"

He shook his head. "You?"

"The Fat Friar claims to have seen a dark figure duck around the corner. He tried to follow, but whoever it was disappeared. We couldn't find any trace of them."

"I see," he said, taking a closer look at the graffiti. The blood had dried, rust colored flakes clinging to his finger as he touched the Dark Mark. "What would you have us do?"

"There's nothing we _can_ do, at least for the moment. Still, it's clear that these are more than just harmless pranks."

"Obviously."

"No need to be sarcastic, Severus."

He didn't respond, shaking his head as he stared at the wall. Whoever was responsible for these incidents was no novice. They were adept at concealing their identity, not to mention gaining access to restricted areas. Granted, they hadn't harmed anyone yet, but that didn't mean they wouldn't. 

"Keep an eye out," Minerva said. "Report any suspicious behavior and make sure curfew is strictly enforced. I don't know who's behind this or what they're planning, but we certainly don't want students wandering the halls late at night."

"Agreed."

* * *

Hermione settled herself at her desk, finishing her Charms essay before she responded to a letter from Ron. In both cases, she was grateful for the distraction, still shaken by what had happened downstairs. To think that there might be a Death Eater lurking around the castle…

No. That was impossible. Voldemort had been defeated, all of his followers imprisoned or killed. Whoever was doing this was obviously trying to frighten her, but that didn't mean…

"Come on, Crookshanks," she said, stifling a yawn as she got to her feet. "Let's try to get some…"

She gasped, spotting the message on the opposite wall. The handwriting was unmistakably familiar, though these words were written in blood instead of ink.

_I know all your secrets, Mudblood. I will use them to destroy you._


End file.
